Losing the Kingdom
by Starren Moonstone
Summary: Great Britain has been broken up, and England is having a hard time adjusting to it. He loses himself, and it is up to the old members of the UK, along with several others, to get England back on his own two feet.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is an update to the story I wrote a while ago. I deleted the original due to the fact the edits I made are substantial enough to warrant it. Maybe not right now, but definitely later. They made the story flow better with what I wanted to tell). Enjoy!

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_The storm had gotten worse. For most of the day, the black clouds of doom had been covering the heavens and the pressure has been building up until the rain started and the wind picked up. The sea was rising with anger. It felt as though the little vessel of a ship was inside a snow globe being shaken by a toddler. All hands were on the deck, clinging to anything stable for dear life. Even the Union Jack was very close to being ripped off the mast._

_England, in a black captain's coat, stood at the wheel, not trusting anyone else to steer the ship to safety. He had been roaming the seas longer than any of them had been born after all. He had seen stormy seas before… just not one quite as wild as this._

_ "__Sir!" one of the members of his crew called out, "We can't see anything through this!"_

_ "__Keep vigilant!" England shouted back, "There'll be no safety until this storm ends."_

_ '__Or we reach port,' he thought, though it looked very unlikely since he couldn't even find land. The rain was too thick and the world looked as if it was painted in black and white. 'Damn it. We should be near shore. Why can't we see anything?' Surely there should have been a lighthouse to guide weary sailors to safety._

_There was a crack of lightning nearby, and the noise temporarily deafened England. He wasn't all that scared before. Now he was terrified. Lighting storm plus wooden boat equals almost certain death._

_ '__Lord God in heaven,' England prayed silently, something he hadn't done in a long time, 'Steer this goddamn ship to safety or I swear I'll…'_

_ "__LOOK OUT!"_

_From out of nowhere another ship, much bigger than England's vessel, appeared. Without any time to get away, the two ships crashed into each other. England was propelled forward onto the main deck._

_ "__It's the Spaniards!" one of the crew shouts._

_England got up and straitened his captain's hat. Indeed, it was the Spaniards; their bright red and gold colors were whipping around in the wind. It was the only bright thing in that cold, dark night. All of England's crew drew out their weapons, ready for any sort of attack to come from the enemy ship._

_ "__Hold your ground!" England commanded, as he drew out his own sword. Any other day, the nation would have a charge-and-take-no-prisoners attitude, but today they were in a bloody storm and their ship was badly damaged to the point of no return. If Spain was on board this ship, just maybe they could come up with an agreement to get out of this alive._

_ "__Well, look what the storm decided to wash in?" said a familiar voice nonchalantly, and the nation of Spain walked down the ramp onto England's ship. He looked calm, almost as if in control of the storm itself._

_England gripped the hilt of his sword tighter. "I don't think I gave you permission to come aboard yet," he hissed at Spain._

_The Spaniard walked up close to the Englishman, so that the two of them were almost touching noses. Spain's eyes this close up looked tired and worn. England had no doubt his own looked very similar. Spain got close to England's ear and whispered, "Just between you and me, I have someone at home I'd very much like to get back to in one piece or else he'll kill me. No doubt you do as well. Surrender your ship and I'll see you home. ¿Comprende?"_

_England raised an eyebrow. "And how can I trust you?"_

_Spain looked at England's eyes again, and said so that everyone can hear, "You really don't have a choice, do you?" England looked down and saw a gun pointed at his stomach. He glowered at Spain. "It's not loaded," Spain said in a hushed tone, "This is just for show. My ship is fine. So tell your crew to obey my orders, or I will have you perish in this storm."_

_England swallowed his pride and dropped his sword. His men followed suit, hands raised in defeat._

_ "__Good. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you and your men. Just this once."_

_With his hands raised in defeat, England was led by Spain's gun point onto the Spanish ship, and to the captain's quarters. Once the door closed behind the two of them, Spain put away the gun._

_ "__Now," Spain said, adjusting his attire to look sharp and put together, "I have to get this ship out of this storm. Take a siesta; you look beat. I'll be back when we are safe and sound, and we can talk about things then, 'k?" He put his hand on the doorknob and paused for a moment. "Oh, and welcome to the _Asunción_."_

_England nodded as Spain left the room. Being there should have made England nervous. Instead, he felt a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. All of a sudden, England felt a wave of exhaustion hit him. He sat down on the edge of the bed. _**England? **_It seemed the day's events finally caught up with him. He lay down on the bed and sighed. He hoped he was making the right choice, surrendering for the sake of the crew. _**England, can you hear me?**_That and if the Spaniard would be true to his word. _**England, wake up!**_England closed his eyes and let his mind become numb. His last thought was about the child back home who was waiting for his return. _**Shit, what have you done?**

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Thank you for reading. For the first few chapters, they are going to come up pretty quick because there isn't that much changed material. Once the heavy changed material comes along, updates will be like once a week. Please comment; I like reading them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Warning - Mention of substance abuse. It's not bad, and it's more of a suggestion than anything. But I'd rather have the warning for those who are sensitive to that sort of content.

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Scotland tried slapping England in the face again, knowing it was probably in vain by that point in time. He had England in his arms as if his younger brother was wounded in battle. England's breathing was barely noticeable; it was very slow like one of a coma patient. His face was very pale, almost as if a white plaster was put on his face. He was also very cold to the touch, no doubt because the heat in the flat wasn't working. The fall chill was in the air at full force.

"You idiot," Scotland said in a chiding manner.

It had been three months since the dissolution of the United Kingdom. The first week after the dissolution, Scotland and Wales had kept very close tabs on England to avoid a scene such as the one Scotland was in the middle of now. England had a tendency to drink himself senseless; it was a habit that started with when America gained his independence and carried on with each colony after that. As the weeks went by, England seemed to be alright, and Scotland at least left him alone. Apparently, England wasn't fine at all.

Scotland scooped up England and put him to bed. He could sleep off the alcohol and then answer to Scotland after. Maybe Scotland could get Wales over and the two of them could chide England together.

Though, as Scotland went back to the common area of the flat to have another look at the scene, there was something about it that wasn't adding up. There was only one bottle of ale in the room. Scotland know well enough that England couldn't handle his liquor, but he could handle way more than just one bottle of the stuff. One also wouldn't knock him out cold anyway; one would make him tipsy enough so that he couldn't walk straight. Two would get him all emotional about things that have long been resolved. Three would probably make him pass out.

Scotland tossed the empty ale bottle and checked the rest of England's flat. There was nothing to suggest any more ale was consumed recently. He went back to the room he left England in. It was a simple bedroom, with a study desk and a bookshelf full of magical items instead of books. There was nothing really out of the ordinary. Scotland walked back to the common area. What if this was a backfired spell? It would make sense, but there was no open spell book.

However, there was a syringe lying on the ground. Upon inspection, Scotland saw that there was some residue inside. It was clear and hard to see, but it did reflect pale rainbow colors in the light. There was something familiar about it, though Scotland wasn't sure from where. He scoured the flat again to see if there was a container of some sort that held more of this liquid. He eventually found what he was looking for; on one of the bookshelves was a plastic bottle of the clear liquid. It was labeled ambrosia.

'I remember this,' Scotland thought, his anger rising as he held the substance. It wasn't at England though. Scotland had several run-ins with ambrosia, the last time a few centuries back. A "miracle healer" sold the stuff; it killed a ton of people. Many suspected witchcraft (as everyone does), but the "healer" was caught and was dealt with accordingly. The ambrosia was disposed of so that it would no longer endanger anyone else. Scotland thought that he would never have to deal with the stuff again. Obviously not.

'But how did England get his hands on this stuff?" Scotland thought as he put the bottle down on the table in the common area.

There was only one thing for this. Scotland took out his mobile phone and dialed Wales. He was going to call Wales regardless, but now he at least had something tangible to tell his brother.

"Scotty," Wales said when he picked up the phone. He sounded annoyed, but that was more at the phone than at Scotland. Wales, out of all the Celtic brothers, hated mobile phones the most. He was surprising fine with computers, which Scotland still couldn't understand.

"Aye. I need you to get your ass over to London."

"What is it?" Wales asked. Scotland could hear roaring flames in the background. "I'm in the middle of a ritual."

Normally, Scotland would have let it be, since Wales' rituals were very delicate. But this wasn't a normal situation. "It's going to have to wait. England's in need of an intervention." Scotland noticed a small collection of photos in the corner. A few were of the Celtic brothers, some were with France, and then there was one that caught his eyes. It was of England and North American brothers in front of the Olympic torch in 2012.

"Again?" Wales did not sound amused one bit, "Not that I'm surprised. I'll be over, but it's not something that pressing, is it?"

"Aye, it is actually." Scotland sighed out of frustration, the reality of the situation was starting to sink in. "Look, I also need you to get a hold of Canada and America."

The roar of the flames died. "What happened to England?" Wales asked. Scotland could hear a subtle panic in his voice. "You don't ever bring other people to our family problems."

"Ambrosia. Apparently he's gotten his hands on the stuff and overdosed on it."

Scotland could hear a thump on the other side as if the phone had been dropped. "…I'll be over." Wales hung up with Scotland.

Scotland turned off his phone, then changed his mind to call Northern Ireland.

"Scotty!" the Irishman on the other side said in his usual cheery voice, "It's been a while. What's up?" Scotland could hear music in the background; an upbeat tune on a flute.

"I need you to come over to London. England's put himself in trouble."

The music was turned down. "What kind of trouble? Has he gotten mixed up into something bad? Oh, I knew this separation wasn't going to be good for him…"

"He's put himself into a coma. Overdosed on ambrosia."

"No…" Northern Ireland gasped, "I'll be over. Yes, brother, I'm going." The last part was directed away from the phone.

"You cannot be serious!" someone else on the other end shouted. Probably Ireland. The voice then proceeded to keep swearing in Irish Gaelic. Definitely Ireland.

"Is it alright if Ire comes over too?" Northern Ireland asked slowly, almost guiltily, "I kinda promised him that I'd spend time with him since it's been ages and ages that we've been apart."

"Aye." Scotland would rather not have Ireland come along for this; there was already going to be enough problems considering he asked for America to come. Maybe something good would come out of it. He certainly hoped so.

"See you in a few hours then. Now, Ire, calm down…"

Scotland hung up the phone and went outside on the street, where the light mist made everything damp and cold. He took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He angrily held the cigarette in between his teeth and breathed.

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**Author's Note:** The next update will be next week. Until then, please comment. It lets me know interest. Even if it is just to say you like what's going on. I'll also open up questions for the Celtic brothers (namely Scotland, Wales, Ireland, and Northern Ireland), for fun.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Scotland!" England called out as he ran, "Wait for me!" He had a hard time running with his quiver, mainly because it was a bit too big for him. He himself was dressed in a green cape and a white nightshirt that he wore more as a dress with how big it was._

_ "You have to keep up then," the older nation said, "I'm not going to wait for you, you know." Scotland was in his usual kilt, that had a sash and a matching cape. It was all in a blue and green box-like pattern. England asked him about it once; Scotland said it was traditional garb of his people. England said that no one else wore capes. Scotland retorted back that no one in England wore white dresses either, and that ended that discussion._

_ "No fair. I'm shorter than you."_

_ "Aye, ain't that the truth."_

_ England grumbled but did catch up with Scotland eventually. They walked in the woods for a bit, then the trees started getting thinner until they disappeared altogether, showing the rolling hills full of grass, flowers, and fairies. The sun was blocked by grey clouds, overcasting the land in a dull light. But despite the gloominess, England never thought of the land to be dull. The colors shown through, making it still the beautiful land that it is._

_ England asked, "Aren't we going to see mum?"_

_ "Aye," Scotland replied irritably. _

_ "Then why are we going this way?"_

_ "Because she's over here today."_

_ England tugged at Scotland's arm, making the older nation stop. "Why is she so close to the people?"_

_ Scotland sighed; whether it was out of exasperation or something else, England couldn't tell. "You can ask her yourself when we get there, ok?"_

_ They reached a settlement that hadn't been used for a very long time. The inhabitants were drawn out of the area by invaders some number of years ago. Some distance away from the normal houses was a wooden temple which was slowly rotting away. Scotland and England went inside, where Britannia in a white dress sat at the center weaving cloth. The colors of it were red, white, and blue. The pattern was one that England had never seen before; it almost looked like a flag. _

_ "Mum!" England said happily._

_ "About time you came to see me, little one," Britannia said. She put down her weaving and England gave her a hug. The woman smelled of the forest trees and wild flowers; it made England feel safe like nothing else._

_ "Why are you out here instead of the forest?" England asked._

_ "I want to see the rest of the land," Britannia said, "It's not all forest you know."_

_ "But you don't usually do that."_

_ The woman smiled kindly. "It is good to see the world sometimes too, Anglo. It is bigger than you can ever imagine."_

_ England looked at Britannia with puppy dog eyes. There was something off about her aura; he could feel it. "You're going away, aren't you?"_

_ England woke up, back on the ship, a few tears in his eyes. It wasn't rocking as much anymore. He groaned and sat up. It had been a while since he had thought about Britannia. The memory of her still hurt._

_ "Ah, so you've woken up at last," Spain said, smiling in a way England had never seen him smile before. It was a natural one, pure with no hint of mischievousness. _

_ England wiped his eyes quickly. "Where are we?" he asked. His head felt foggy; for whatever reason, he felt as though he was forgetting something. _

_ "In the Caribbean Sea. We're going to stop by one of my ports for supplies. We'll take a few days there, and then we set off to Europe."_

_ England tried to recollect the events of last night. He could have sworn he was on the African coast. Why was he suddenly in the Americas? "My ship was completely destroyed, wasn't it?" _

_ Spain nodded, "Everyone got off safely, and we did manage to salvage a few things. Which reminds me." Spain pulled out a box. "This is yours, si?"_

_ England nodded. It was a box that Wales had given him a long time ago. It was easily handheld, engraved with winding celtic patterns and a spoon with a handle that wasn't completely solid. The handle was made out of a horseshoe, a celtic cross, and a four-leaf clover. _

_ "It's locked, so I hope you have a key."_

_ England shook his head. "I think it's down with the ship." He certainly didn't have a key on him._

_ "Pity. Maybe you can get someone to unlock it for you when we reach shore."_

_ 'Maybe,' England thought. He couldn't remember what was in the little box; it made him feel uneasy. Even if he had the key with him, he wouldn't want to open it. "Why are you helping me out?"_

_ Spain looked out the window. "To be honest, I actually like you. We're very similar, and in that storm, I couldn't help but take pity in your plight. For now, why not a truce, until I can get you back home."_

_ "Does this mean no fights?"_

_ Spain grinned, "A good sword fight every now and then never did anyone harm."_


	4. Chapter 4

America rang the doorbell as Canada kept squeezing Kumajirou's paw. They both had no idea what was going on. All they knew on the matter was that England was in a catatonic state and for some reason their assistance was require.

"I still don't get why they need us," America grumbled for the thousandth time, "Seriously, shouldn't Wales and Scotland be enough?"

"Depends," Canada said quietly, "After all, England was also Great Britain. Maybe the dissolution did more damage to him than we originally thought."

"But that was months ago!" America shouted, which drew attention from a few passerby.

Canada glared at America, "Yes, Al, but we both know how long paperwork takes."

The door opened and an orange haired individual appeared. His hair was cut short, but he wore a braid on the right side that touched his shoulder. His eyes were mismatched; one was light blue and the other a light green. He had a zip up sweatshirt on, which was a deep emerald green color. He smiled wide when he recognized the pair of North Americans.

"You finally got here!" he said, pulling them into a great big hug, "It's been too long since I've see you two. And you were so much smaller then."

"Um…" America wasn't exactly sure what to say. While, yes he did recognize this person, he couldn't place a name. And he was almost certain that this guy wasn't this friendly.

"Right, it has been a while since we've seen each other. I'm not surprised you've forgotten about me. I'm Northern Ireland. Call me North. Come on in, everyone is upstairs."

They entered into the building and the ginger closed the door. At the end of the hallway was a staircase going up. "Now," Northern Ireland said, "Turn around and don't move."

Without any other warning, Northern Ireland touched America and Canada's foreheads and said something in Irish Gaelic; the brothers couldn't make out what was said since they understood none of that language. Nothing really changed, though America felt a tingling sensation left where Northern Ireland touched him.

"Sorry I had to do that," Northern Ireland said, "But ever since I heard you two stopped seeing the fairies, I've been wanting to fix that."

America blew air though his nose in amusement and shook his head. 'So this guy has hallucinations too,' he thought.

"Especially since we're going to be together for a while," Northern Ireland finished, not noticing America's reaction.

"What?" America and Canada asked simultaneously.

"Oh, did Wales no tell you about that?" Northern Ireland asked surprised.

"All he said was that England was in a coma," America said.

"Well, best we head up there and explain the situation in full. America, lead the way. It's the door at the end of the hall once we get up these stairs."

They go up the stairs and head to the door Northern Ireland described; America was the one to open said door, followed by Northern Ireland then Canada. On the right hand side, there were three closed doors. Directly in front was a bathroom. On the left was a kitchen/living room common area, where another ginger, who looked almost identical to Northern Ireland, and Wales were sitting at a table. There was also a red creature on the table that looked up when the door was loudly closed shut (much to Canada's embarrassment). America's first assumption was that it was a cat. It came zooming over like a bullet to the group, and tackled America to the ground, knocking Northern Ireland on the way down.

"The hell?" America said, trying to get the creature off him. For a little guy, this thing had a lot of strength because it refused to let America up. It kept pressing its face into the nation, like a cat on a leg. America noticed that this creature had no fur… so it couldn't be a cat.

"That's enough, Taliesin," Wales said, getting up and picking up the creature by the scruff of the neck, "He gets the message. Good to see you again, America. Canada. I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Yeah," America said, getting up.

The only reason America recognized Wales was because he'd seen Wales at the last world meeting, the one right before the dissolution of the UK. Since he looked so much like England, America mistook him for that nation. That was an awkward encounter, but Wales didn't take it personally.

Wales was in a button up dress shirt with a poppy pin on his left side pocket. The creature was wriggling violently, yet Wales was able to keep it in his hands easily. It was only at that moment that America saw that it was a dragon, albeit a very small one.

"I thought dragons didn't exist," America stated flatly, not believing what he was seeing.

Wales gave him a confused look. "They do. They always have. They just don't like being around people. North," Wales turned to Northern Ireland, who had moved on into the kitchen, "What did you do down there?"

"Nothing that major," Northern Ireland assured him, "I just opened up the bit that sees magic and all its wonders. Do you want tea, Canada?"

Canada nodded, and grabbed a seat on one of the couches.

"What about you, America?"

"I'll take coffee," America said.

"Oh, that's right," Northern Ireland realized, "You have a thing with tea."

"I just don't like the taste of it," America said a bit bitterly. It was half true; he didn't really care for tea and never understood why England loved it so much. He completely lost the taste of it during this one time when he was captured and forced to drink tea inspired by Boston's tea party (namely, salt-water tea). It left a bitter impression.

Based on appearances, the other ginger was Ireland. While Ireland and Northern Ireland looked like mirror copies of each other, they were completely different in personality and it showed. Ireland's eyes were mismatched as well, but with deep blue and green. His attire was similar to Wales': a dress shirt colored white. He also had a ring on that had a four leaf clover on it. Ireland hadn't said anything at all, but looked intently at America as if trying to read something.

"Hi, Ireland," America said. He waved awkwardly.

Ireland only nodded his head once, then returned to his book that he had been reading beforehand.

"Where's Scotland?" Canada asked.

"He's with England," Wales said, "And no, he's still not up, but we want to make sure that nothing changes in his condition for the worse. Tell me, what do you two know about ambrosia?"

"Isn't that a thing in a Greek myth somewhere?" America said, taking a seat next to Canada, "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's not a myth. It was originally made so that the consumer could forget memories, used so that the bad memories could be wiped away, in theory. What it actually does to most people is kill them. But as we are nations, it has a different effect. It's something of an addicting drug. England's gone and overdosed on it."

A hard look washes over America. "Ok, so this is an intervention. Why are me and Canada here?"

"Memories are a delicate thing," Ireland said, not looking up from his book, "You two are a thread of memory that they don't have." Everyone looked over at Ireland for a moment, all of them taken off guard that the nation said "they" and not "we", like he was separate from this situation even though he was physically present. Ireland looked up for a moment with his eyes, then continued reading as if not noticing the room was staring at him.

Wales cleared his throat and explained: "England's memory is going to be hazy and mixed up. We know about some things, you know about others. Besides, with the situation as it is now, when England wakes up, he's going to need to know he has support. He's always been such a stubborn child."

"Well, it certainly runs in the family," Northern Ireland said, handing out the tea and coffee.

"Once we have a better understanding of England's condition," Wales continued, "I believe we'll move out into York. The countryside does wonders for recovery."

"Not to mention there's more space," Northern Ireland added in.

America stared at his coffee for a while as the conversation shifted over to the latest news. Somehow Wales got Canada talking about hockey (and once anyone does that, there's no backing out of it). After a while of simmering with the coffee, America asked "Can I see England?"

Wales looked at America intently for a moment; America got the impression that he was being read. Eventually, Wales shrugged and stood up. "I don't see why not."

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**Author's Note**: More updates will come next week. Until then, please comment. I do read them and appreciate them, even if it is just to say hi.


	5. Chapter 5

_England hid in the bushes, bow and arrows ready for the attack. _**He looks really pale.**_ He grinned. This time, for sure, he was going to get Scotland. _**He's always been pale.**

** I mean, paler than usual.**_ A flock of birds suddenly flew up into the sky. _**He has more color now. He doesn't look like a porcelain doll anymore. **_England came out of his hiding spot to see what was the matter. The sky was dark grey, threatening rain. _**That's a good sign.**

_ 'That's odd,' he thought as he walked out of the forest, 'It was perfectly sunny just a moment ago.'_

_ He went over to Stonehenge, where he found Scotland, the Irish twins, and Wales all gathered around the center. There was someone on the middle stone; England could see an arm. On the wrist was a golden bangle with the symbol of a shield that had a cross covering it. It was a bracelet Britannia always wore. _**Come on, England! Wake up already!**

_ England felt hands gripping his shoulders; he felt as though he was being pulled away. _**America, stop it.**

_ "Mum?" England asked, running towards the body, fighting back the tug on his shoulders. _**England?**_ Indeed, Britannia was on the stone, though she looked more like a ghost; her body was transparent. She looked at England, smiled kindly, and said something. The words, sadly, were lost on England's ears. In the next moment, she disappeared completely. _**Looks like he's coming around**_… "Mum!"_

England found himself in a different place, a room with beige walls and white furniture. There were people around him, who he didn't recognize at first glance. His head felt all fuzzy, like his mind had been spun around one too many times.

"Hey there, little brother," Scotland said, though he looked different. He was looking down at him from the other end of the bed. He was in a completely blue and official-looking uniform with a white criss-cross on the front. He sounded gruff, like he was annoyed at something… well, more annoyed than usual. He kept looking at one of the other occupants in the room, a guy with glasses and short blonde hair. Right next to him was another blonde guy who looked just like him, except the second's hair was longer and his face was nicer. "How are you feeling?"

England looked back at Scotland and realized why he looked so different. He had facial hair on his chin. It wasn't much, but it definitely made him look older. "What happened to Mum?" England asked, sounding completely helpless.

"What?" Scotland asked surprised.

"Oh no," someone else in the room said, though England didn't know who. His focus was solely on Scotland.

"What happened? Where is she? Why was she on the stone table?" England could feel panic rise within him. A part of him knew exactly what happened, and he refused to believe it.

"What is he talking about?" that first blonde glasses guy asked. He had this one small clump of hair sticking up. England had half a mind to reach out and pat it down flat.

"Shh…" North said. He too looked older, and England had never seen him with a serious face on. His hair was also short… maybe that's it.

"England…" Scotland said slowly, "She's gone… she's been gone a long time…"

England felt his heart breaking. "No, she can't… she can't be dead."

"Come on, you two," North said to the blonde twins, "Let's skedaddle, shall we?" It was still weird to England that North had his hair short.

"Please tell me this is one of your tricks," England said to Scotland, getting up, "Please…"

Scotland didn't say anything. Wales appeared and put his hands on England's shoulders and pushed him back down on the bed. "It's alright, England," Wales said calmly.

"No, it isn't!" England yelled, fighting back against Wales, "She can't be gone! She's a nation! She's immortal!"

"Shhh…" Wales said, his turquoise eyes glowing. Instantly, England calmed down. He felt his head swim and his body became very heavy. "Shhh… go back to sleep. We'll explain everything in the morning."

England felt his eyelids drop as he slowly nodded off. Wales started humming a song that Britannia would sing on some nights when England had a hard time sleeping. With tears in his eyes, England fell back asleep.

88888

_England stared at his box. Spain was taking a siesta and the Englishman really didn't want to see the eyes of Spain's crew alone. They didn't really like England, which was to only be expected. There was something important about the box. While true, he knew that Wales gave it to him, that was all he knew about it._

_ He did remember that the spoon had meaning, according to Wales. It was a love spoon and each of the different symbols meant something. England knew the horseshoe was to represent luck and the cross was to represent faith. The four leaf clover… luck again? Or was it just a symbol for Ireland and North's land? England couldn't remember. _

_ Then there was the whole issue of opening the darned thing. There had to be a key; there was a lock on it. But England had no idea where that key was and just assumed that it sunk with the ship. But he had this nagging feeling inside him that he had the key on him. Why?_

_ Spain started coughing violently and woke up. He fell out of the hammock he was using. England put the box down and ran to Spain's side. "Something wrong?" England asked, helping Spain up into a sitting position._

_ Spain shook his head, but was still coughing. England took out his flask and handed it to Spain, who had a swig of the stuff. _

_ "Gracias, Inglaterra," Spain said quietly._

_ "What happened?"_

_ Spain shook his head again, "I don't know. It's been happening a lot recently, ever since I started on this voyage. No need to worry about it though. I am fine."_

_ England nodded, acknowledging the comment but not really believing it. Spain sounded shaken, and not just physically._


	6. Chapter 6

"What just happened?" America asked once Scotland and Wales came into the common area. Ireland was told what happened in the other room, and he was completely surprised. He kept looking at America with slight awe.

"I could be asking you the same question," Scotland said, scowling at America. They had a face off for a good long moment before Scotland broke it off with an eyeroll. "Amnesia," he said, "I thought you'd be a bit smarter than that."

"But… Mum?" Canada asked.

"Oh, that." Scotland put his hand on the back of his neck and closed his eyes in thought. "Our mother was Britannia. She raised all of us for a time, but then she just faded away one day. The last time any of us saw her was at Stonehenge, telling us to get along, protect each other, brotherly duties."

"We all took it hard," Wales said, "Especially England. He was only a newborn at the time."

"So you have to help repair all his memory," Ireland stated, "Great."

Northern Ireland stared hard at Ireland. When his brother looked up, Northern Ireland went back to his usually cheery self. "It could be worse," Northern Ireland said, "He could have had complete amnesia and not know he was a nation. Though, it's really unexpected." Northern Ireland's face fell into a serious, thoughtful look. "I'd never expect it to go that far. Only to maybe 1707. After all, that was when Great Britain was first officially formed."

"It could be that he might have woken from a dream," Wales mused, "I know that you can't get your bearings when you've been taken out of a dream."

They stayed there in silence for a time. Scotland eventually broke it. "We should head out to York. The city would only confuse England if he really is stuck as a toddler."

"Tomorrow?" Wales asked.

Scotland nodded. "No point now. I don't like driving at night and since I'm the only one who can drive…" America raised his hand excitedly, like a little school boy. "…by _English_ rules," Scotland added, "I don't want any more trouble than there already is." America put his hand down sulkily.

88888

After dinner, Scotland went outside for a smoke. Canada followed him, but only to talk. There was still something bothering Canada about what happened in England's room.

Scotland offers a cigarette to Canada, who shakes his head. Once Scotland lit his own, he looks at Canada and asks what he wanted.

"Did America do something bad?" Canada asked slowly. He spun his thumbs around nervously.

Scotland raised an eyebrow. "No, I just don't trust his driving skills."

"No, I mean back in England's room," Canada clarified, "You kept looking at America angrily. And when we told Ireland about it, he looked really impressed."

"Oh, that…" Scotland blew out some smoke before proceeding, "I have a good feeling he used magic. There were sparks when he grabbed England's shoulders. Who knows what he did exactly and how it affected England's condition."

"But he doesn't have any. And even if he did, how can he use magic if he doesn't even believe in it."

"Magic can be used subconsciously. He wanted England to get better, and suddenly England got out of his catatonic state for a bit. Besides, you two do have magic. You've both used it before."

"Really?" Canada was surprised. He had no memories of ever using magic, and barely any of magic in it of itself, just a few scattered fragments and the few accidents at world meetings involving England.

"Aye, I can't believe you've forgotten. You two grew up with magic."

Canada closed his eyes for a moment. "I remember England reading to us and making the stories come to life, but other than that."

Scotland nodded. "I guess you two were young. You were better at it than America. You used it more." Scotland glanced at Canada, who was looking down at the curb. "You should head inside, you look like you are about to fall over your own two feet."

Canada nodded and went back inside. He wasn't really tired so much as worn. He had recently been to meeting after meeting concerning world order; all of which he was just sitting and listening to the bosses argue. He really wanted to sit them down and have them just talk like normal people and realize everyone has feelings, but that was not his role in these meetings nor would it actually do much good.

And then this came up. Canada knew how fragile England was emotionally, but he never expected something like this so late. He wouldn't have been so surprised if this happened in the first week or so. But now it was pressing on to the third month since the dissolution. And anyway, it couldn't have been just an overdose to get high; there had to be another reason.

88888

Northern Ireland watched his brother pace the bedroom they were sharing for the night. Wales and Scotland had the other free bedroom and the North American brothers were in the common area. For the past half hour, Ireland had been trying to work a spell without much success. He could only get random sparks to fly from his hands.

"You're probably just tired," Northern Ireland suggested.

Ireland didn't respond; it was official, he was pissed. He always got quiet when he was annoyed with something.

"You could have stayed home if you didn't want to come," Northern Ireland said. He felt bad about the whole situation, but he was also kind of annoyed by Ireland's attitude. It was very bad timing all the way around.

"No, we had a promise."

"I would have come back once everything had been resolved."

"And by the looks of it now, that's going to take a long time, and you would have probably asked me to come anyway."

Northern Ireland sighed. "Ire, what are you trying to prove?"

Ireland stopped pacing and looked at his twin questioningly. "Nothing…?"

"Sure, and you are being stubborn for no reason. You don't do that."

Ireland sat down on the edge on the bed. "I'm not trying to prove anything."

"Then what's all this about?"

Ireland stayed quiet.

"I know you don't want to be here, and I can't understand why you're here in the first place because of that. If you're going to stay, at least try to be less… moody. And more helpful. They are still your family, whether you acknowledge it or not."

Ireland rolled his eyes, and let himself fall on the bed.

"What were you trying to do anyway?"

Ireland took out a wooden charm of a sheep. "Trying to make this actually useful. My magic isn't working properly."

"It's probably the city atmosphere," Northern Ireland said, "Don't you have trouble whenever you go to world meetings at America's place too?"

Ireland nodded. "I'll be glad when we get to York."

"What's the charm for?"

"Protection from illness. I know you are going to want to use that healing spell of yours when it rains. I figure that we only need one sick person to worry about."

Northern Ireland smiled and gave Ireland a tight hug. "Thank you, Ire. You should make one for yourself too, so that you don't get sick either."

Ireland raised an eyebrow.

"I won't dance without you." Northern Ireland said with a smile on his face.

Ireland looks at his brother for a moment, then smiles a little. "…who would I be if I said no to you?"

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America lay on the sleeping bag, not exactly sure what to make of the situation. England was going to live; not much of a surprise there since he was a nation and he was the most stubborn one of all. But he lost his memory, or stuck in a memory, or something.

"Agh!" America groaned in frustration. That was not mentioning the fact that England got into this mess in the first place because of an overdose. America could handle the drunkenness… sort of, a part of him was still in prohibition mode, but drugs? He never thought that England would go that far.

"Something wrong?" Canada asked, coming into the room. He had a concerned look on his face and was holding Kumajirou very tightly. America could have sworn the little stuffed animal blinked, but he brushed it aside thinking it was just because he was tired.

"I don't get why England would do this," America said bitterly.

Canada started getting into his sleeping bag, avoiding America's eyes. He doesn't say anything, mostly focusing on the back of Kumajirou's head.

"You know, don't you?" America said.

Canada nodded slowly. "After you got your independence, England got shitfaced, trying to forget the pain of the whole ordeal. Since he was still on our side of the world at the time, I took care of him until he got better. At least good enough to go on a ship home."

"But why? Why then, and why now?"

"He doesn't want to be alone," Canada said simply.

"He's like the king of solitude, though. He reads books all day and watches the rain fall."

America waited for some reply from Canada, but none came. He looked over, and saw that Canada was passed out; his glasses askew and an arm outstretched toward America. America took Canada's glasses off and placed them in a safe place nearby.

'I never knew…' America thought as he got comfortable again in the sleeping bag, staring up at the ceiling. It was true, he knew that England had friend issues, but he never said anything about it, so America always thought he was fine with being alone.

Taliesin came into the room and got up right into America's face. America gave the dragon the evil eye. Dragons didn't exist, he knew that. Yet, here was a dragon, right in front of his very eyes. Had he finally cracked? Or…

'Northern Ireland did something…" America remembered. He pushed the dragon off him and turned over to sleep. 'Maybe this is just a temporary trick or something like that,' he though. The last thing he remembered was Taliesin curling up right beside him.

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Wales was getting nowhere in the book he bought at a used book store. There was too much going on, and the sentence about lost magic orbs has lost its meaning. His mind was in the other room, where England lay with mismatched memories of a time long past. There wasn't anything Wales could do, and that helplessness was eating at him. He had thought he had gotten used to feeling helpless. Apparently not.

From the distance, Wales could hear sirens wailing in the distance. He turned to glance out the window, but instead saw Scotland at the wheel of a car, groaning. Wales turned around and saw the Irish twins looking mildly concerned, Canada looking back at the police car following them, America looking terrified for whatever reason, and England, unconscious and lying against Canada's shoulder. "You've got to be kidding me," Scotland said through gritted teeth.

Wales closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them again, he was back in the flat, his book still on his lap. He sighed and closed the book, knowing he wasn't going to read any more of it that night. As a part of Wales' magic, he was able to get glimpses of the future. He could not control any of it, and there were times where it was very jarring.

'What is a police car following us for?' Wales thought, trying to read details from the vision, '…America did look terrified… did he do something?' He dearly hoped not.

"…it's Ireland's problem," Scotland voice comes from outside the door, "Not Wales', not North's, and especially not the North American brothers'. Just be patient, will ye?" Wales could tell that Scotland was trying to be quiet, but the walls were very thin in the flat. After a few moments, Scotland spoke again, "Aye, I know. You can wait a bit longer, can ye?" The door flies open and Scotland entered the room in a bit of a huff.

Wales raised an eyebrow. Scotland's own magic allowed him the ability to see and communicate with ghosts naturally. According to Scotland, it was very awkward during meetings when ghosts of prior bosses came around and tried to argue too. "You made a deal with a ghost?" Wales asked his brother.

"It's not like that. It's just Mum," Scotland clarified, unbuttoning his shirt. "Honestly, I've seen her more dead than alive." He slipped his shirt off and sat on the bed.

"Why? What does she want?"

Scotland shook his head, "It has to do with Ireland, and only him."

Wales highly doubted it, but he knew Scotland well enough to know that he wouldn't say anything else on the matter. "Fair enough." The thought of Britannia brought some sadness to Wales' heart. The two of them were close and he learned much from her about magic and being a nation. "Still… what I wouldn't give to see her again."

"Trust me, you're fine with not seeing her on a constant basis."

"But you still have conversations with her."

Scotland turned off the light and the two of them got in to bed. "Do you want me to give her a message?" Scotland asked.

"Really?"

"Would I ask if I didn't mean it?"

Wales sat up and gave Scotland a pointed look. Over the centuries, Scotland loved pulling pranks on everyone. They had gotten milder over the years, but there are some things that you just don't forget. "Yes, yes you would."

Scotland rolled his eyes, "I mean it this time."

"Tell her she was right," Wales said quietly, after lying in silence for a while.

"About what?"

Wales smirked in the darkness, "She'll know."

* * *

**Author's Note**: You know, it helps when you actually upload the next chapter and not have it just sit in the doc manager section of the site. Anyway, this is this week's update. If you like what you read, please comment. I like reading them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note**: The update is a little late this week because I'm on vacation and got caught up with other things.

* * *

_England walked about the deck, Spain at his side. They agreed to the fact that England could walk about as long as Spain was there to charade the fact that he was a prisoner to the others to keep some order on the ship. At least then, England wouldn't be getting the angry glares of Spain's crew. The Atlantic Sea was all around them, in its beautiful radiance under the sun. For whatever the reason, England always thought that it looked more splendent in the New World. _

_ "You've been quiet today," Spain noted._

_ "What, do I have to be talkative?"_

_ "No, it's just that I'm not used to you being this quiet. Something on your mind?"_

_ "Plenty." Over the past few days, England could feel his mind slipping. His head felt foggy all the time, and no amount of sleep was clearing it. "I feel like my mind is spinning more and more out of control…"_

_ "I know what you mean. I've been feeling it too."_

_ They stare out at the ocean for a time. "We should be getting to port in a few days' time," Spain says, "If you want, we can explore a little bit when we land. It would clear up that mind of yours."_

_ England shook his head. "I prefer to be on the sea. I feel safer out here."_

_ "Up to you. Personally, I want to be back on dry land."_

_ England smirked. "Landlubber."_

_ "And proud to be!" Spain beat his fist on his heart in a dignified manner. "If I had a choice, I'd stay at home gardening."_

_ "Really?" England was surprised. Gardening seemed very quiet for Spain to do. _

_ "Si, I grow tomatoes… ahhhh," Spain ruffled up his own hair, slightly cringing, "Right now, I'm missing the harvest. I'm going to get an earful from Lovino when I get back…" he stopped, and shows a confused face._

_ "Lovino?" England asked out loud. He had heard the name before, but wasn't sure from where. _

_ "Romano. Southern Italy," Spain clarified, "He's a little guy with a lot of punch. He's stubborn and a bit of a pain at times, but he's really sweet once you get past all that. Though, he'll never admit he has that side. He likes to pretend he's all tough."_

_ England chuckled a little, "America is a bit like that too. He's always trying to prove how strong he is, even though he is still really young. And once he's made his mind up about something, there is no changing it…" England's smile slowly fell, as he remembered his parting with America. It was one of the worst partings…_

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_ England had gotten America, Canada, and Australia together in his office, which was an impressive feat of its own. Canada was easy enough; he was a good boy and usually spent his time reading in this one corner of the house. Australia was the exact opposite. That child was always running every which way and causing havoc, even when standing still. And then there was America. Recently, he had been getting more moody and questioning every single thing England said. _

_ "I'm going to be going away again," England told the three of them._

_ "For how long?" America asked annoyed._

_ "A month or so. I'm hoping to be back in three weeks, but with the seas being as they are this time of year, it might be longer."_

_ "Yeah, sure, blame it on the sea," America grumbled. He stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him. The other room occupants stared at the closed door in slight shock._

_ "When do you leave?" Canada asked, turning back to England._

_ "Tomorrow, but early in the morning," England said, "I would have told you all sooner, but my boss only told me just today."_

_ Canada nodded, but looked disappointed, a look England was noticing come over the Canadian's face more and more._

_ Australia raised his hand, "Can I come with you?"_

_ "Not this time. It's important business, and I can't keep an eye on you."_

_ Australia pouted. "You always say that. When can I come with you? I want to see the world. I want to see my land again."_

_ England inwardly groaned, pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes. Their lands… their homes… their people… They kept asking and asking. Why did they all want to go?_

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_ "You mentioned you wanted to spar," Spain said out of the blue._

_ England snapped out of his vivid daydream. "Is this an invitation?"_

_ "I would like to show my crew how their boss fights. They believe I'm too much of a pacifist."_

_ "Prepare for humiliation then," England said, grinning, "I don't lose easily."_

_ "We shall see about that."_

_ Spain tossed England a sword. They distanced themselves so that they were ten steps apart. Already the crew was gathering around ready to see the spectacle. 'And that is exactly what they are going to get,' England thought._

_ "Whenever you are ready," Spain called out._

_ "Three, two, one."_

_ They charged at each other, swords in striking position. The vibration of the clash made England feel alive. It had been an age since he had a good old fashioned sword fight. No guns, no tasers, just a fast eye and a good wit. 'Wait… taser?' England thought for a second. He narrowly dodged an attack from his left by Spain's sword. 'What the bloody hell is a taser?'_

_ Spain came at him again, flicking his wrist so that the sword was coming down on England. England blocked it by knocking Spain's sword off course. 'This isn't the time to think about imaginary objects,' England thought as he brought his sword close the body in a defensive stance._

_ Spain came over to the right. England cut him off. England tried to come from above, but that left his body vulnerable, which Spain took advantage of. So England quickly withdrew his sword and used it as a shield. _

_ "Very defensive, Inglaterra," Spain noted, "Can you not attack?"_

_ "Watch me, Spain." England led attacks so that he and Spain were close to the mast of the ship. Taking this to his advantage, England swung around the mast, gaining momentum and came in for a strong blow which Spain met with ease._

_ "See?" England said, "I can attack."_

_ "Please, I could have done that."_

_ Clash, clash, clash. The swords kept coming into contact, to the left, right, up top, blocking maneuvers and blows that were quite skillful. Clearly, they were at perfect odds with each other. A stalemate if you will._

_ "This is getting nowhere," Spain pointed out as the two of them pushed against the other's sword._

_ "Draw?" England offered jokingly._

_ "Do you want my ship to end in anarchy?" Spain asked with an eyebrow raised, but smiling. "There has to be a clear winner. I say, since this is my ship, you should let me win."_

_ "No chance in hell. I still have my pride."_

_ At the exact moment, the ship suddenly lunged to the side, catching the swordsmen off guard and tossing them to the ground._

_ "Now what in bloody blazes…" England looked up to where the wheel of the ship was. Spain's first mate was there, hands steadying the wheel._

_ "I'm sorry, senior," the first mate said, "But here was a rock we had to avoid. Unless you want to abandon the _Asunción_ and swim the rest of the way."_

_ "Gracias, no gracias, Capitán García," Spain said, standing up and putting his sword away._

_ "That ends that then," England said, disappointed. _

_ The two nations looked at each other, then looked out at sea. They didn't find any rocks poking from out of the ocean waiting for unsuspecting ships to destroy. They looked back at each other again, and started laughing hard. _


	8. Chapter 8

America woke up with something poking his head. When turning to find the source of it, there was nothing there. He was reminded of those times in his childhood where he would hear things that weren't there, things that go bump in the night. England would give the explanation that it was one of the fairies or some after effect of one of his spells. At the time, America believed it, but that was because he was a naïve little child. Since he got older, he knew better.

And then, of course he was proven wrong. A mint-green bunny flopped into his lap and proceeded to rub its head in America's palm. "The hell…?" America reached for his glasses to see if his vision was playing tricks on him. The green bunny was a green bunny.

"That would be flying mint bunny," Wales said, with a completely straight face. He was sitting down at the kitchen table, a mug in his hand and a newspaper open in front of him. "He doesn't bite… at least not hard."

As a response, flying mint bunny smiled up at America.

"That's good to hear," America said slowly. He couldn't help but feel he had seen this creature somewhere before…

The bunny moved on over to Canada. It rubbed its nose on Canada's nose and it looked really cute. America expected Canada to freak out when he woke up, but he didn't. Instead, Canada calmly petted the creature on the head as if it wasn't odd to have a flying green colored bunny wake you up like a cat. America sometimes wondered how Canada was so calm about everything.

America stood up and stretched. "What time is it?" he asked once he was a bit more awake.

"Almost eight," Wales said, not looking up from the paper, "We'll be going once Scotland gets back. He's gone to get his van."

America went over to the kitchen part of the common area to make himself coffee; he couldn't start a morning without the stuff. He paused at the counter, realizing that there wasn't a coffee maker around. He stood there for at least a minute, trying to get over the fact that England didn't have a coffee maker. It was a standard kitchen appliance that every person needed to have, like a toaster.

"Instant only," Wales explained, still not looking up from the paper, "Boil some water, add in power. Mix. Power's in the cupboard right in front of you. The water should still be hot from when I made tea earlier."

America would have told Wales off, saying that he knew how to make instant coffee (he had to do that when he was out at meetings), but he was surprised as to how Wales knew what he doing and thinking. "Dude, that's creepy."

"What is?" Wales looked up and glanced around the kitchen.

"Can you, like, read minds or something?"

"Oh, that," Wales said like it was no big deal, "You could say that. I've gotten good at reading people."

America felt the side of the kettle; it was slightly above lukewarm temperature, not good for any form of hot drink. He turned the kettle back on, then took out a mug and put some coffee powder in it as he waited for the water to heat back up. Taliesin flew up onto the counter and looked at America. America looked back in a sneering way, which got him a flame to the face. America crashed into the wall to make sure he wasn't burnt by Taliesin's flames.

"Taliesin," Wales said, "Play nice."

Taliesin blew some black smoke from his nose, then hopped over to Wales and curled up on his lap. Canada had gotten up by this point and was also at the table, reading something on his phone with flying mint bunny on his shoulder.

"Something wrong, Matt?" America asked.

"Oh, no," Canada said in a bit of a fluster. America raised an eyebrow, making Canada continue, "Well, sort of… I'm getting a new boss the beginning of next year…"

"Dude, that's cool!"

"Yeah, but that means I have to explain to her the whole nations thing."

"It's not that bad of a conversation, dude," America said, shrugging it off.

"I'm just tired explaining it all the time," Canada said, turning off the screen, "Most everyone thinks it's a joke or a trick until the previous one explains the situation. And sometimes they aren't even around. Those are the worse times."

Northern Ireland came into the room. "Hey, um Scotty's back, and I need help getting England into some fresh clothes. All I can find are his dress shirts and I think it be better to get him into something more comfortable, less formal."

"Let's see what we can do," Wales said, "England likes hiding his sweatshirts, I can tell you that. America, can you help out? You're the strongest out of all of us."

"Scotty's stronger," Northern Ireland piped in.

"I doubt it," America said grinning.

"That's a conversation for the car ride," Wales said, putting a pin into that debate. Wales' eyes suddenly start glowing for a few moments. The nation closed his eyes and said, "And make sure we get England's wallet too."

Northern Ireland looked confused. "Ok, but why is that important?"

"Just covering all our bases," Wales simply said, folding the newspaper then headed downstairs.

"What was that about?" America asked, really confused.

Northern Ireland shrugged. "Probably some future vision thing. Best not to think about it too much. Come on." The three of them go over to England's room, which was left relatively untouched since yesterday.

"Wales can see into the future?" America was more shocked with how casually Northern Ireland talked about it than the actual thing itself. America had seen some magic from England before, stuff at world meetings when things got a bit slow. He figured seeing into the future could be a thing, but to just do it so easily and no one freaking out about it?

"Ask him about it later," Northern Ireland said, "I don't know too many details myself. I just listen to him. Now," the Irishman throws open the closet door, "Let's see what England is hiding in here."

"I feel bad about going through his stuff," Canada said, looking over at England. He seemed calm that morning, which was a relief from his distraught from the previous day.

"Eh," was all Northern Ireland said on the matter. He pulled out an empty quiver and looked at it thoughtfully for a moment. His eyes glowed for a moment. "I'm impressed he still has this… But why here of all places?" He shrugged and continues searching.

America picked up the quiver. The design on it was carved on by hand, and was poorly done, as if it was done by a child. "What is this?"

"England carried that around for years," Northern Ireland explained, "Then he grew up and discovered other weapons. I'm surprised its all the way out here. Aha!" Northern Ireland pulls out a sweatshirt that is wrinkled, but clean. "I knew he had to have something comfortable."

"I didn't actually think that he would ever wear one," Canada said.

"Oh, he would never," Northern Ireland agreed, "This was a Christmas gift from Wales a few years back. He wasn't amused."

Northern Ireland changed England's dress shirt for the sweatshirt. Once he was done, America easily picked up England. The unconscious nation's head rolled around and America quickly adjusted his hold on England so that his head was properly supported. America was reminded of one time in the trenches, during WWI, where an entire section of trench got blown up. England just happened to be right in the middle of the explosion. Being the hero he was, America scooped up the unconscious, bleeding nation and rushed him off to the medical bay area. Panic had overwhelmed the American at that time, wondering if England was going to die right there and then.

America quickly tried to put it out of his mind. It was traumatizing and he didn't need that at that moment. Besides, England was fine, just as he was fine now. Relatively.

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Scotland's van was black and could sit up to eight people comfortably. The only odd thing about it was the license plate; namely it had the peace flag on it instead of the English flag. This was introduced a while back when plates started being developed. Most police crews knew about the plate and knew just to let the car pass. Only a handful actually knew what the plate meant and even fewer understood the circumstances of that fact. The less normal people knew about the personified nations, the better.

Scotland smoked on his cigarette as he waited for the others to come down. The first being Ireland. He was alone and looked annoyed, though Scotland was used to that look on him. His green eye was glowing, like he had just casted a spell.

"You've got to be kidding me," Ireland muttered coving the eye with his hand when Scotland spoke up about it.

Scotland pulled out an eye patch and handed it to Ireland, who refused at first.

"Just take it, will ye?" Scotland said, rolling his eyes. "It's not like it's bewitched."

Ireland grudgingly took the eye patch and put it on.

"You're still angry at us," Scotland stated.

"Yes."

"About North?"

"And the plantations. And the civil war. And everything else!"

"If there is a person to be angry with, its England. Not me and Wales."

"It doesn't matter really. Your names were on those documents. And it was your people who helped with the planting as well."

"It does, actually. Mum doesn't like it."

"Is that so?" Ireland didn't look impressed. "And she just happens to tell you this now?"

"Nay, she's been telling me this for years. I didn't tell you because you wouldn't talk to me nor would you listen to what I had to say. Now that you and North are together again, it's about time you heard."

"And you think I can just forgive and forget at the drop of a hat? You must be joking," Ireland said miffed.

Scotland waved a hand to one side. He knew full well that Ireland saw events of the past fairly frequently; it was a part of his magic, the bit he had no control of whatsoever. "Alright, but don't come running to me if Mum starts following you around and causing havoc in your life."

"She won't," Ireland grumbled, "She never does. She only comes to you."

Scotland thought back to the previous night. Britannia was very adamant about Scotland talking to Ireland about this, moreso than usual. She was bringing her foot down as hard as she could with this squabble the brothers were having. "Look, Seamus, what…"

Wales suddenly appeared, almost tripping out the door. He grabbed a hold of the railing, and looked at Scotland and Ireland. "Please tell me you two were behaving," Wales said, catching his composure.

"Just talking," Scotland stated.

"Good." Wales looked around the street. There were people milling about, but nothing out of the ordinary.

"Did you see something?" Ireland asked.

"Yes, and I'm still not sure what the catalyst for it is. And Scotty, make sure you keep to the speed limit."

Scotland rolled his eyes, "Like anyone really cares."

"Allistor," Wales had a dangerous look on his face, "Humor me."

"We're here!" Northern Ireland said as the rest of the group came out. He noticed Wales' face and toned down the pep. "Are we ready?"

Ireland blinked slowly, not really believing what he was seeing. "Is that a sweatshirt?"

"Found it hidden at the bottom of his closet."

"He's going to throw a fit when he realizes what he is wearing," Scotland said, grinning.

Northern Ireland agreed, returning the look.

"Right, I take shotgun," Ireland said, and got into the vehicle without another word.

"Please tell me you got England's wallet," Wales asked Northern Ireland. The Irishman handed it over without another word.

America and Canada took the very back of the van, sitting England in between the two of them, his head resting on Canada's shoulder. Flying mint bunny also headed back that, curling up in England's lap. Wales and Northern Ireland took the middle seats; Wales behind Scotland and Northern Ireland behind his twin. Taliesin perched on the shoulder of Wales' seat and stared menacingly at America. Once everyone was settled in, Scotland started the van and hit the road.

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Getting out of London was a hassle. It always was during that time of day, what with all the traffic trying to get into the city. Scotland was hoping to get out before all of that, but no such luck.

Once they were on the open road, traffic went by smoothly. Ireland spoke up once Northern Ireland started talking about something to do with his leprechauns. "As you were saying before?" The grumpy Irishman was slouched in his chair, looking at Scotland expectantly.

It took Scotland a moment to figure out what Ireland meant. "What are you looking for from us?"

"I don't know what you mean." Ireland moved his head to the left, so that he didn't have to look at Scotland. He could get lost with the slow change from suburb to the open English countryside.

"You know exactly what I mean." Scotland wished he wasn't driving so he could have looked directly at Ireland. "You wouldn't be here if it didn't help you in some way."

Ireland was quiet for a few minutes. "It's not like you can help me directly."

"Try me."

"I, alone, have to sort out my own history. This isn't something even North can help with so don't even say you can."

"Oh, hell. You took the fucking words right out of my mouth," Scotland said sarcastically. When Scotland glanced over at Ireland, he didn't look amused by the comment. "Fine, you have history problems. Big deal, we all do right now. That still doesn't explain why you're here. You can soul search on your own better than with us."

Ireland didn't answer for a while. He was shooting up magic in the form of shimmering shamrocks that disappeared at an instant. He always did that when he was thinking. "I'm only here for North's sake."

"You sure that's all?"

"…and it's a bit easier when the people responsible for part of my history are nearby. For… just in case something comes up that I've forgotten… like I ever would…"

"So you _do_ need out help in some way," Scotland said with a smirk on his face. It had been a very long time since Ireland admitted to needed some form of help.

"Yes, now leave it," Ireland said quickly, and turned back to the window.

"Don't you sound all defensive."

"Shut up." Ireland punched Scotland in the shoulder.

"You need our help for once." There was no way on Earth he was going to let this go any time soon.

"I said shut up!" Another punch, this time it did kinda hurt.

Scotland grinned. They hadn't bickered like actual brothers in years. He would have continued on since he was having way to much fun with this, but a police car came up behind them, sirens wailing. Calmly, Scotland pulled over, expecting them to pass. They didn't; they pulled over behind Scotland.

"What do they want?" Ireland asked confused.

"Well… we're about to find out," Wales said, passing the wallet to Scotland.

Scotland rolled down the window, and took out not only his human ID card, but also England's ambassador card. Most nations had them, except Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland were still waiting for their new ones. Government offices were so slow. "I really hope this doesn't take long."

* * *

**Author's Note**: And it's going to be a week until this gets resolved. Sucks that they have to wait in a car for a whole week. XP Anyway, that's all for this week. Until next time, please comment.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note**: I apologize for the update being late. This week has been busy and only now have I gotten the time to sit down and post the update.

* * *

_ England adjusted the headset that sat on his head, trying to get his whole ear covered with the headphone. There was a message coming through, but it was very faint. He fumbled around the desk for his notepad and a pencil. Dot. Dot. Dot. Dash. Dash. Dash. Dot. Dot Dot. Dash. Dash. Dash. It kept going in that same pattern, Someone was in danger… but where? From what side?_

_ Pursing his lips, England wrote out a response on the paper. Name and location Simple to the point message, however he was terrible at translating Morse in any which way, so he had to keep it short. Taking out his cheat sheet, he began translating the message, so he could send it out._

_ "Iggy!" the obnoxiously loud voice of America came from nowhere, and England was suddenly tackled from behind. "Whatcha doing?"_

_ "Get off me, you git!" England tried to wrestle out of the American's grasp like an annoyed cat, "What are you even doing here?"_

_ "Dude, I am here to save the day!" America posed in a heroic stance making him look ridiculous. _

_ England was not at all impressed. "No, seriously, what are you doing here?"_

_ "Just as I said. I brought supplies and an army to help you out. I was hoping maybe you can show me around. All I've seen is the sick bay and dude, everyone there looked terrible."_

_ "It's a sick ward for a reason." England gritted his teeth. He was annoyed with America being there. He wanted to stay out of this war for all this time, and now he finally decided to join? He didn't want to admit to himself that he was relieved to see the American there though. Maybe the long, drawn out stalemate will end. _

_ "Yeah, but you also look terrible. Just as bad as the people over there."_

_ England never considered it. "I'm fine. Better than some of the poor sods who have to get sent home." He didn't want to think about the state of the soldiers that were sent home. Flashes of missing arms and legs, molding faces, and scabbed heads ran through England's mind. The Englishman started sending out the reply over the telegraph. _

_ "Whatcha doing?"_

_ "Shut up," England hissed, trying hard to concentrate and not mess up the message._

_ "Well, that's rude."_

_ Suddenly, an explosion shook the compound, send England face forward on the table._

England's head fell forward and he woke up with a start. He half expected to be at Spain's desk, pouring over the box again. However, that was not the scenery surrounding him. He was in a small sealed room of sorts, with windows on all sides. There were only padded seats and a wheel up at the front. His head felt very foggy. 'Why won't it clear up?'

"What's taking them so long?" England heard America say… but it didn't sound familiar. It sounded older. He looked over and, while sure he could tell it was America, he was wearing glasses and looked closer to being an adult. Like in the dream.

"I can't tell," Canada replied. Same thing with him. He was older with glasses. And even a bit more confident. "She looks really confused."

"What's confusing about an ID?"

Canada shrugged half way, then realized that England was on his shoulder. "You're awake," Canada said, surprised.

"What's going on?" England said. His words felt thick and difficult to say. 'What kind of dream is this?'

"Well… oh, she's coming back."

A cop came into view, walking towards the front of the box room, where the window was open and Scotland was sitting right next to it. He didn't look happy, though England hadn't seen him happy in a very long time.

The cop said something; England couldn't hear. There was something very familiar about her, something England couldn't place. He had seen that face before somewhere…

"I'm telling you," Scotland said, his voice rising in anger, "The name on the card and the name registered with the plate are the same one! Nothing has changed."

"And I am telling you, sir, that this is not a valid ID."

"It's only been three months! Do you know how slowly they print those things out?"

"I need a valid form of identification."

It finally clicked for England. "Captain Henderson?" England's vision started to fog up.

The officer looked back at England. "Have we met?"

"You… your serving under me. We're…" Something was pulling England down into oblivion. "The _Swiftsure_…" _England slipped into darkness. It felt as though he was submerged in water, however he could still breath. It was calming…_

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_ England opened his eyes in a bit of a daze. He felt lost, confused, and concerned all at once. He could feel the _Asunción_ rocking on the open sea, and knew he was awake. Or was he?_

_ "Buenos dias, Inglaterra," Spain called out from his desk, "What's wrong?"_

_ England looked at the Spaniard's face. It was full of concern. "A dream…" England said, standing up and trying to grasp at details. A whirling machine. An explosion from a powerful cannon. A room with no doors. America and Canada, all grown up. Captain Henderson. None of it made sense. And at the same time, some of it wouldn't let go of England's mind._

_ "Wish to talk about it?"_

_ England sat down across from Spain and looked down at his hands. His brain was starting to panic. What was real, what was fiction, what was dream? Why was he even questioning this in the first place? This, what he was in right now, had to be reality, right? "It's just weird… I was in a dark place, underground from the looks of it. The walls were made of dirt. There was someone trying to get help… in a really odd way. Codes. America came in, saying he brought help in whatever war I was fighting in."_

_ "Isn't he a child?" Spain asked._

_ "He was an adult in the dream, and somewhat competent… And then, I think the dream changed, and I was in a car with my family, and they were being stopped by a police officer for some reason. There was miscommunication somewhere…"_

_ Spain tilted his head, "A car?"_

_ "Don't ask, I have no idea. The name just fits right. A room with no doors but many windows. Anyway, the police officer was one of my greatest captains... or at least she looked just like him… He's on the ship."_

_ "Huh…" Spain said once England was done. "It does sound weird. All of it. But then again, dreams are supposed to be weird."_

_ "There's something strange going on here." England said after a time. "Dreams aren't supposed to feel real."_

_ "So, you've caught on too," Spain said, "It's gotten to the point where I have no idea what is real or not." _

_ "So… all of this could be a dream?" England said, not sure whether or not he was joking in this reply. He didn't really believe it himself, but something in his gut told him that his statement was right._

_ Spain shrugged. "If you take a look outside, you should be able to see the coast. We'll be landing into port soon, so you should get ready." Spain left the room, no doubt to get his men ready to land._

_ England got up and looked out of the window. The waters were calm and the sun was reflecting off the sea in a brilliant shimmer. 'Something happened,' he thought, 'Someone must have put a curse on me; that's why all this turmoil through these realistic dreams. But who? And why get Spain mixed up in this as well?'_


	10. Chapter 10

Everyone was very glad to finally get to England's house in York. The officer, who for whatever reason England knew, froze up. Another officer came over, someone Scotland recognized from a very awkward drunken night. She explained to Scotland that this was a new officer and the pair of them were in the awkward position of finding a missing government car. What didn't help was that the new officer was also mildly dyslexic. They let the nations go shortly after.

"I still find it odd that England knew who that person was," Canada said as he helped America get England out of the van.

"I doubt that's what happened," Wales said, "The _Swiftsure_ was one of his ships a long time ago, and has been out of commission for at least a century. That officer must have been a descendant of someone he worked with before."

America looked up at the house he had lived in when he was a kid. It hadn't changed at all from that time. The house was located on a hill about a half hour walk from the closest village. The view of the country side from there was incredible, and there was a forest in the back that went on for miles. The house itself was still as big as America remembered it. The front of the house had flags hanging from it. It used to have flags from all the colonies England had. Now, it was just the Union Jack. "When was the last time he was here?"

"Not sure," Wales said, beckoning America to follow him, "Last time I can be sure was a few Christmases ago."

Wales led America into the house and through the halls of the old place. Decorations of paintings, weapons, and treasures from every place around the globe cover the walls. They still looked impressive to America. He had his own house decorated very similar to this.

"There's a room here that would be good to put him in," Wales said as they walked up the stairs, "It's plain, and you have to go through a small hallway to get there. I think it was Australia's room once. What I'm thinking of doing is having someone placed in that small hallway at night. England isn't known for sleepwalking, but he might wake up at some point in the night and get confused. I just want to make sure he doesn't get himself hurt."

America stopped at a painting that caught his eye. It was of him, Canada, Australia, and England. It was a bit jarring to him, since everyone looked so serious and pristine. England was like that, but everyone else in the picture certainly wasn't. All America could see was one giant lie well painted.

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"Everything alright, America?" Wales asked when he noticed that the American had stopped following him.

"Hm? Oh…" He was staring at a painting, seemingly lost in thought.

Wales had noticed that America throughout all of this had been very quiet. The American was usually the loudest thing for miles, with a beaming smile on his face and a hero's posture with every step he took. "Is there something you want to ask?"

"…no…why?"

"It just seems something's bothering you."

America opened his mouth, probably ready to tell off Wales, but changed his mind. Wales figured he probably remember the fact that the Welshman could read people well. "I never thought that England would stoop this low," America said quietly.

"You still look up to him," Wales said in surprise. He was genuinely shocked. After everything that had happened since America's revolution, it just seemed odd.

"I never said that," America scoffed.

The two of them turned into the short hallway, and Wales opened the door at the end to reveal the bedroom England would be put in. It was as plain as Wales had remembered it. Simply, a bed, a chair, and a mirror. There was a large window in the room, looking out to the forest nearby. Though, there was someone else already in the room. He had green eyes, dark brown hair, and a plaster strapped on his nose.

"Talk about timing, Wales," Australia said, a devilish grin appearing on his face, "I was just about to call you. G'Day, America!"

"Yo, Australia, dude. I didn't know you'd be here."

"I called him shortly after you," Wales explained as America put England in the bed, "I figured that he would probably be needed at some point."

"He's in a state, isn't he?" Australia commented, "Has he always been this pale?"

"You have no idea," America stated, "He already woke up once and thought he was a kid again."

"Seriously? What the hell is this ambrosia stuff?"

Wales sighed. He had told Australia already, but he forgot this particular nation had a very short attention span. "I'll explain again later. For now, you should go tell everyone that you're here."

"Sweet. So who else is here?" Australia and America headed out of the room.

"Canada is."

"Nice. I haven't seen him in ages."

Wales smiled a little. Long lost brothers, reunited once again. Wales made sure that England was completely covered by the blankets before following America and Australia.

_Is there something I should know about him?_

Wales stopped in his tracks and grabbed hold of the wall.

_He thought I was Queen Victoria and started talking about things I had no idea about. It was a good thing that I got bailed out by someone else, but my question still stands. Is there something I need to know about Arthur?_

Wales breathed deeply. These were pieces of the future. His vision was a bit disjointed. He could still see he was in the hallway just outside of England's room, but his left field of vision was of the kitchen downstairs, and a girl was in front of him looking very intently.

_He's delusional, that's all; he thinks he's in the 1800's. We're going to be taking him to hospital in a day or so._

_Really? Because he asked me once if my line went back to her, saying that I looked very much like Victoria. It sounded like he actually knew her._

"Wales?" America came over to Wales, "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine."

_Who exactly is Arthur? How could he have know her and be no more than a few years older than me?_

"One of your eyes is glowing…" America looked concerned. He put a hand on Wales' shoulder. For a moment, America's eyes glowed, and Wales was taken out of the vision.

"It's fine. This happens once in a while."

"But this happened earlier today?"

"Yes…. Well, it gets worse when I'm tired. But really, I am fine." Wales took a deep breath, "Come on, we should join up with the others."

They started heading back downstairs. "But, dude, what even was that? North said it was future vision?"

"Yes, it was. It's apart of my magic, a part I can't really control."

"So you can use magic like England?" America's tone made it sound like he was still trying to wrap his head around this thought.

"Yes, I can use magic, but I don't use black magic. That's England's thing, and I'm still wondering why."

"But England doesn't have future vision."

"I'm the only one who does."

"…what was is about?"

Wale shook his head, "I'm not entirely sure myself right now. These things become clearer as time wares on." Not entirely true. He wasn't ever positive of the future, but he learned how to deduce a situation from the clues given. This was how he could read people easily. He figured that someone ran into England on accident in his current state, but why a stranger here in this house?

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Australia went downstairs, really excited about seeing Canada again. The colonial kid trio, back together again. He looked back to tell America something, but found that the other nation wasn't there. Australia just shrugged and continued on. He headed to the kitchen, where everyone else was now congregated. Scotland was the only one standing up, his back to the doorway. Australia grinned mischievously. It was about time he did something he had been wanting to do since he was a kid.

Australia took out his boomerang that he always carried with him and proceeded to jump up on Scotland's back, using the boomerang like a knife on his neck. Except, he forgot that he was almost as tall as Scotland and definitely as strong as him, so ended up tackling him, sending them both to the floor.

"Fuck!" Scotland let out as he fell to the ground.

Everyone jumped out of their seats in alarm. Canada let out a yelp of "Maple!" and Ireland pulled out a gun.

"Oh, it's just Australia," Ireland said, putting the gun away.

"What in the name of Crìost are you doing, Aussie?" Scotland asked, getting up.

"I came to see England," Australia explained simply, trying to look innocent of any wrongdoing.

"I mean attacking me." Scotland was having none of it.

"Oh, that, right. I didn't mean for you to fall. Sometimes, I forget how much I've grown. Especially in this place." Australia laughed a bit.

Scotland didn't look at all impressed. "You cannot be serious," he said, shaking his head.

Wales and America came into the room. Once everyone was settled in, Wales reexplained the situation to Australia.

"So, England needs to be watched, ok," Australia said after the explination, "I can take first watch."

"That wouldn't be wise," Ireland said.

"Oh, so you would rather take it?" Scotland asked, smirking in Ireland's direction.

"I never said that." Ireland gave Scotland a harsh face.

"I see no problem in Australia taking watch," Northern Ireland said.

"Neither do I," Canada agreed.

"All in favor?" Wales asked.

Everyone but Ireland raised their hands. "Fine," Ireland said, getting up and leaving.

"Poor Ire," Northern Ireland said once Ireland had gone.

"Does that happen often? Ireland being the odd on out?" Canada asked.

"Not really," Scotland said, "When we were young, he was the one to come up with all the pranks and be the one to give out all the ideas. As we got older, that power was more balanced out, seeing as we became a bit more scattered. It just looks like now he never gets his way with things."

Wales raised an eyebrow at Scotland. "Ireland was the mastermind behind _all_ the pranks? Really?"

"Most," Scotland corrected himself, "I'll take credit on the times we sneaked up on you in the middle of the night and scared the shit out of you."

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_It was a full moon, the light shining bright upon the land. And Scotland had finally found Wales' new hiding place. This time, it was deep in the forest by a pond in a hole in a tree. Wales had wrapped himself in his cloak and curled up in the hole. Almost a perfect hiding place; Scotland wouldn't have noticed it if it weren't for the giant dragon that never seemed to leave Wales' side. Taliesin was flying above the forest at that moment, perfect opportunity to strike. _

_Scotland leaped down from the tree he was scouting from. Usually, Ireland would join him on these excursions, but he was having some issues back home. Scotland was alone that night._

_He stealthily walked up to the unsuspecting Wales, making sure he was out of sight of the sky. Scotland got right up to Wales and looked at him for a moment, just to make sure the nation was actually asleep. Wales had been faking sleep recently and catching Scotland completely off guard, which pissed him off to no end. Where was the fun in scaring someone if they were expecting it? Wales must have been waiting for some surprise attack, for his sword was drawn. But his hand wasn't clutching it tightly; the blade was lying across Wales' lap with his hand resting relaxed on the hilt. Wales' breathing was slow and regular. He was actually asleep then._

_Scotland quickly took Wales' sword and threw it into the pond. He could fish it out later, no big deal. Then, Scotland moved behind Wales so that his left hand was around Wales' waist and his sword was positioned against Wales' neck. _

_"I've got you," Scotland said in a menacing tone, and he couldn't help but smirk as he said it._

_Wales shot open his eyes, making to move, but he noticed the sharp blade at his throat. He clenched his hand, but realized the sword he carried was no longer there._

_"Looks like you've left yourself defenseless yet again."_

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Scotland had a proud look on his face, "Those were some fun times."

Wales shook his head, an old bitter look on his face. "And yet, you still wonder why I have trust issues with you."

* * *

**Author's Note**: That is it for this week's update. I will post the next update on Friday (and I promise that this time). Until then, please comment.

**Update**: There is a comment I cannot answer directly, so I have to do so here because it is important enough to respond to now. Please don't take these works and post them on different sites, even if you do credit me. I like to keep in control of my own works and I already have another site I use (which is Archive of Our Own). I'll take recommendations for other sites to post on so that more people read them, but I personally would prefer to be the one posting the stories. Thank you for your understanding.


	11. Chapter 11

_England walked into the tent and sighed, tiredly. Based on the situation, tomorrow was going to be fun. He wasn't even being sarcastic either. The plan for tomorrow was to once again do battle with Scotland's army. Their last battle was an easy win for England so he had all the confidence in the world that this battle too was going to be another easy win. Though, the first military movement for tomorrow was to get the entire army across this one bridge. It was going to be an annoying bit of tactical work._

_ "Sir?" a young soldier asked as he entered the tent. England nodded and silently beckoned him in. "The Earl of Surrey asked me to retrieve tomorrow's movements." It was obvious from this soldier's tone of voice he was nervous. No doubt he had heard rumors about England. _

_ "Yes, though between you and me, he doesn't need to know anything until tomorrow." England sat down and wrote out his plan, then handed the paper to the soldier. "Tell him to be up by sunrise. We'll start the march then."_

_ The soldier saluted then left the tent._

_ England laid down on the ground and looked up at the ceiling of the tent. Even though he had a good feeling about tomorrow's battle, he still couldn't shake off a feeling of dread. Perhaps it was because of Scotland's face when he left last battle. It looked as though he had a plan, and not a good one at that. England put it aside, closed his eyes, and turned to his side._

England opened his eyes with the moonlight in his face. Odd, he was in the middle of a war on the eve of battle in a tent. Why was he now indoors in common clothing? He was wearing… a sweatshirt… England knew it was called that, but he hadn't seen one before let alone wear one. The fogginess of England's mind had cleared somewhat; he could think a little better at that current moment.

He got up and looked out the nearby window. There was a little ring of flowers right outside the forest. The night fairies were out dancing in the moonlight. England forgot about the war for a moment to enjoy the sight in front of him. Fairy magic was always something to view and appreciate.

'Did I get captured?' he wondered as he looked around the room. It was very plain, and he felt like he had seen it before. If he did get captured, who was behind it? It couldn't have been Scotland; he wouldn't have put England nicely in a bed. England looked at the door, then tried the doorknob. It obeyed his silent command immediately.

'Well, that was easy,' he thought. If he wasn't suspicious before, he was now.

"Oi, England," a voice said.

England looked at the source of the voice, which was a tall, green eyed individual. England swore he had never seen this person before, yet the eyes were strangely familiar.

"Something wrong, mate?"

'Mate?' England thought, 'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' "Where am I?"

"In your country. As for exactly where, I have no idea. I don't do so well with geography in other countries, even yours."

"Do I know you?" England felt like he should know this person… why?

"Do you recognize me?"

England thought about it for a moment. The guy did look familiar, but only in the eyes. He knew he had seen those eyes before. "No," England said at last.

The guy looked disappointed for a moment. "Oh, well. They all did say that was probably going to happen. Tell me, what do you last remember?"

The suspicion in England's mind continued to grow. He should just run for it, it wasn't like this stranger was blocking the hallway. But… at the same time… he needed some information as to what was going on. "I'm at war with Scotland… over at his place. Do you know what I'm doing here?"

"Yeah… that… um… You were taken over here… for…safety." The green-eyed stranger's fake smile sucked badly.

England certainly didn't believe it for one moment. "And so who is going to command the troops?"

"The general, who else?"

England groaned. He was the general, even though as far as everyone else was concerned it was the Earl. "Look, I need to get back up to Scotland, and I'm going to do so, with or without your help."

"Determined, aren't ya?" the guy said looking amused, "Alright… um, what if I told you the battle has already passed and you were brought here in the aftermath?"

England was not impressed by this explanation. The stranger said it way too quickly. "I should have a memory of that then."

"Maybe," the guy shrugged, "But what I said is true."

'You are obviously lying,' England thought. He was annoyed with this guy. "Who are you?"

"Australia."

"And you know who I am?"

"Yep."

England was convinced there was only one explanation. "…can you see into the future?"

Australia laughed. "No… but that would be a hoot. Maybe I could have gotten independence sooner if that was the case. Why do you ask?"

"But you have to. I've never met you before." England could feel his mind becoming foggy again. 'Did someone drug me? If that's the case, there's not much time.' He ran past the stranger and down the hall. He came to a longer hallway that he recognized. This was his house. He knew how to get out of this place. He turned left and ran as hard as he could. That didn't last long because he ran into Scotland, wearing his land's tartan.

"And what do you think you're doing?" Scotland asked.

'So, I am a prisoner in this place,' England thought, his anger rising. He leaped up and tried to tackle Scotland down, but England's strength was not at its best. Scotland grabbed him by the back of his collar, and suspended him a few centimeters off the ground. England was wriggling about, putting up a struggle, which reminded him a bit of his younger days when he was still a toddler. Scotland would pick him up in the exact same way and hang him up on a tree branch, leaving him there until either he wriggled enough to fall to the ground (which hurt for the record), Wales or Britannia found him, or (after the first few times of finding him in that state) Britannia forcing Scotland to take him down.

After a while, England gave up. Scotland slowly placed England on the ground. Weird, England expected the Scotsman to drop him. "Better?" Scotland asked.

"The hell I am. You kidnapped me!" England stood up and pointed an accusing finger at Scotland. Promptly after, he fell back down to the ground, landing on his butt.

Scotland rolled his eyes. "Like that's something new. And is it really kidnapping when you are in your own house?"

England growled as he stood back up again, slower this time. He could feel his knees wobble underneath him. Why was he so weak? Had he been drugged? That would explain the fogginess of his head.

"He thinks he's at war with you," Australia said, coming from behind.

"Excuse you, I _am_ at war with him!" England snapped at Australia, making the green-eyed stranger take a step back.

"You always are, aren't you?" Scotland said, "Except I always win."

"Not this time, Scotty," England grinned maliciously, "I have you cornered."

"You sure about that?" The look on Scotland's face made England reconsider. It was the same look Scotland had riding away from their last battle: a look of cunningness.

"Very sure," England said unconvincingly. He started remembering the battle; Scotland ambushed his men on Sterling bridge, a bloodbath, that ended with him being found by the young soldier in the aftermath. England closed his eyes and felt himself fall forward.

_England caught himself on the railing of the ship, overlooking the water below. It was almost as if he was trying to hurl himself overboard. In a panic, he pushed himself away from the edge, falling onto the deck. _

_ "Did you really want to go for a swim there?" Spain asked, coming over to him. He had a grin on his face, meaning he was only joking._

_ "No, I…" England walked back over to the edge and looked at the water. 'How did I end up over here?'_

_ "You look confused." The grin disappeared in a flash. "Something wrong?"_

_ "I don't remember how I got here. At all. I was just back in my homeland… I…" England fell to his knees. He realized what was going on. He had thought of it before. Drugged. He was drugged. _

_ "Well, after breakfast, we went on shore and explored a bit. You fainted from the heat, so I brought you back here."_

_ "I don't feel well." It explained everything. The surrealism and the markings he discovered a few days ago._

_ "Heat stroke, probably. Here, drink this." Spain handed England a canteen. England took a swig of it. It was room temperature, but it was something to sooth his dry throat._

_ "You… I think you're right. About what you were saying yesterday."_

_ "That this is a dream world?"_

_ England nodded. "Something happened to us in the real world and brought us here."_

_ Spain looked thoughtful for a few moments. "There was an explosion."_

_ "So… you're in a coma because of that blast?"_

_ "Si, it sounds right. Though I can't remember what I was doing. It was something really important that I was doing for a friend."_

_ England nodded. "At first, I thought someone cursed me."_

_ Spain laughed, "You would say that, wouldn't you?"_

_ England rolled his eyes. "But then I noticed this." England rolled up his sleeve and revealed marks and bruises._

_ "You were drugged by someone?"_

_ England shook his head, "These are self-inflicted. I think I overdosed on something. I don't know what. Nothing I know of would cause all these dreams to occur."_

_ Spain was silent for a moment, still staring at England's arm. "Why? Why do that to yourself?" He didn't sound judgmental, just… confused._

_ England took a deep breath. The moment he would explain would make everything real. His feelings, his pain, all of it. "I needed an escape. I was in pain and…" England trailed off, trying to think of the other reason why he was drugging himself. There was another reason, but the fog in his head was too much to dig any deeper._

_ Spain put a hand on England's shoulder. He didn't say anything, but England could read his eyes. He got it. He understood. "Those marks don't look good. They might get infected."_

_ "I think they've been taken care of," England said, remembering the past few highly vivid dreams, "I think my family is looking after me."_

_ "That's good. I can hear Romano and Italy's voices sometimes, so I think I am too."_

_ "Italy? I thought the twins were separated. Unless there is something you aren't telling me."_

_ "The brothers are united in present day I believe," Spain said, his eyes closed to try to recall. "We need to get out of this dream world. It does us no good pretending like this."_

_ "That's all well and good, but how?"_

_ "I don't know, amigo. I just don't know."_


	12. Chapter 12

America came down to the kitchen where Australia and Canada were sitting. He didn't sleep well the previous night. There were too many things going on in a place that brought up too many memories. Canada was staring at his mug and Australia was reading something on his phone.

"Where's Artie?" America asked, sitting down.

Australia snorted with laughter, "Are you still trying to find a nickname for him that he actually likes?" When America and Australia lived together in the house, the two of them were always trying out different nicknames for England. Their guardian of the time hated them, and continuously knocked them down.

"He needs one. Besides, he hasn't said no to Artie yet. Where is he?"

"He's outside in the courtyard."

"This early?"

"Al, it's almost eleven," Canada stated blandly, giving his brother a slightly miffed look.

Before America could retaliate, the Australian national anthem started to play. "Welp, duty calls," Australia said before he stood up and walked outside the room.

America and Canada sat there in silence for some time. "And how are you doing, Matt?" America asked slowly.

Canada didn't answer; he just kept staring at his mug.

"Matt. Earth to Matthew." America waved a hand in front of Canada.

Canada blinked and looked up. "Sorry, I… was just remembering something."

"Was it important?"

"Not really…" America wasn't convinced; if it wasn't important, Canada wouldn't have been staring at his mug like it was the most interesting thing in the room. "Al… do you remember playing with the fairies?"

"You mean the imaginary friends that we came up with? Sure do."

Canada didn't say anything further. Instead he got up to wash his cup. Kumajiro got off his chair and followed.

"Ok, I swear to God that thing wasn't real," America said, pointing at the polar bear. He felt like he was missing something.

"He always was, Al," Canada said, sighing.

"But he never moved."

"That's because I was holding him." Canada turned the mug upside-down to let out the water, but for some reason he kept shaking it as if there was something else in there that wasn't coming out.

"And he didn't blink!"

"You were looking away." Canada's grip on the mug slipped and it fell into the sink. It didn't break, it just landed with a tinking thud. "Merde," Canada muttered worriedly. He picked up the mug again and looked in the sink.

Australia came back into the room, "I'm getting a new boss, apparently," he said throwing himself back in his chair.

"You too?" Canada asked, looking up. In his right hand was some doll, which confused America as to where Canada got… the doll was moving, brushing herself off…

'That's not a doll, is it?' America thought.

"Yeah," Australia said, "It was kinda unexpected that this person got in too. Oh, so guess what happened last night?" Australia turned to America, "Scotland totally owned England."

"What? Seriously?" America asked, taking his focus away from the creature in Canada's hand.

"England was up?" Canada asked alarmed.

"Yeah, he thought he was in the middle of some war in Scotland. Man, he was a hostile little thing. I forgot that he can put up a pretty big fight."

"Well, he did take over a lot of the world," Canada said, "Did he recognize you?"

"Nope, not a bit. Kinda sad, but," Australia shrugged, "You should have seen what Scotland did, though. He picked up England like a mother with her kitten."

America laughed. He could see it now. He turned to say something to Canada, but he had ran out of the room.

"But enough on that. Tell me, are you seeing anyone?"

America shook his head, "Nah… not really in a dating mood right now. But Canada is, and you'll never believe who he's been seeing."

Australia grinned, "I'm all ears, mate."

88888

Canada came out into the courtyard nervously. He wasn't looking forward to actually running into England if he was still in that hostile mood. But he did know that he had to see him eventually. That, and Canada needed to be outside. The car ride yesterday took a lot out of him. He was used to being out in the fresh air.

In his hand was a fairy that landed into his mug that morning and wouldn't leave until he dropped the darned thing. She was looking very put off, but at least she was ok. Canada was worried for a moment that he killed her. Once he was outside, Canada placed her on one of the flowers. The fairy stared back at him accusingly for a moment before flying away.

Wales was under the big tree next to Ireland, watching Northern Ireland and England running around the area, chasing the fairies. It was play, and Canada calmed down a bit seeing the smile on England's face. Those two soon collapsed to the ground and started picking flowers that grew all along the edge the courtyard.

"Nice day, isn't it?" Wales said as Canada sat next to him.

Canada nodded, though he didn't realize the weather until Wales commented on it. It was a sunny day with only a few clouds in the sky.

"It better rain soon," Ireland said, "North's getting anxious."

"What for?" Canada asked.

"There is a healing ritual he wants to do to help England," Ireland explained, "But it needs to be raining for him to do it."

"I don't think I've seen this one," Wales said.

"You haven't," Ireland agreed, "He usually does it at home, and only if I'm around."

"This should be interesting then."

They sat there in silence for a while, watching the view around them. Northern Ireland came running over holding a flower crown.

"You guys should really join us proper," Northern Ireland said, "Look what we're making." He held out the flower crown, made from begonias.

"I'm fine here," Wales said.

"As am I," Ireland said, looking away.

Northern Ireland put the begonia crown on top of Wales' head, then turned to Ireland, "No, you're not. Come on!" Northern Ireland grabbed his twin's hands and pulled him over to where England was waiting with another flower crown, this one made from unnaturally stubborn primroses. He had a look of innocence on his face, something that Canada had never seen before. England put the wreath on Ireland's head, which Ireland didn't like one bit. Northern Ireland stared weaving another one, when Wales spoke up.

"Scotland was telling me about your lack of magic," Wales took off his flower crown and put it on top of Kumajiro's head.

Canada thought back to his past. He had remembered this one time he was trying magic from England's book. "It just… never worked properly…"

"So you remember something now?"

Canada nodded, "Bits and pieces. I think being around this place again is helping me remember."

"Magic is hard to control and master. It looks and acts different from person to person. Something from England would probably be difficult for you to use since you two are very different. Even I have trouble with England's spells. I'm still wondering why he uses black magic now."

"What's your magic like?"

"I mostly use rituals, and can see into the future. Most of the time it just happens out of my control. Um… Scotland speaks with the dead, and that's about all he does. Ireland does charms and North does healing magic. Both twins can look into the past, though Ireland is forced into it more, like I am with the future."

Canada looked down at his hands. What did his magic look like? Why did he care so much? It wasn't until recently that he even remembered he had the ability. He figured it had to do with Northern Ireland reopening his magic intuition. 'But why was it even closed in the first place?'

Wales took out his spell book and started flipping through it. "I think I have something you can do," he explained. He stopped at one page and read it silently to himself. "Do you know how to play piano?" he eventually asked.

Canada nodded.

"Alright," Wales put down the spell book, "Hold out your hands, palms facing out. Good, now start playing a song like you would on an actual piano. And really concentrate on how the music would sound."

Canada wasn't sure what that was going to do at all, but he started playing "On My Own." He thought back to the time he saw _Les Miserables_ with France, how the music welled with emotion. Soon, he actually heard a piano. Canada snapped open his eyes and saw that a violet light appeared where his fingertips landed. He couldn't help but smile; he faintly remembered nights when England was away on business and it was just himself and America in the house and they would play music and watch the lights that sprang from their fingertips.

England came over and sat nearby, entranced by the music and the light. The Irish twins soon followed. When Canada was done, England immediately said, "Do another." His voice was childlike.

"What song?"

"Scarborough Fair."

"I'll join in for that one," Northern Ireland said, moving so that he was sitting next to Canada.

The two of them started playing the old tune; Canada with the piano and Northern Ireland with a fiddle. England grabbed Ireland's hands and got him to dance. For once, Ireland didn't look completely angry, even if he was still serious. At one point, Canada started singing, remembering the words from when he was a kid. It was a song that England would sing on occasion.

"You have a really nice singing voice," England said when the song was done.

"Thanks," Canada said sheepishly.

"What kind of nation are you? I can tell you're one because of your eyes."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, nation eyes always reflect the land their from," England explained, "Yours sparkle like snow. Are you around Russia?"

Canada shook his head, "But you are right. It is very snowy where I'm from. And there are a lot of forests."

"It sounds like a fun place to go exploring in. Maybe one day I can see it."

Canada smiled sadly. "Maybe."

England cocked his head to the side, confusion filling his face. "What's wrong?"

"It's… nothing. Don't worry about it."

"If you say so," England said unconvinced.

"Come on, England!" Northern Ireland said, "Why don't we go to the forest?"

England and the Irish twins took off, leaving Canada and Wales on their own. "Did he ever really see your place?" Wales asked curiously.

"Not really. I know my land is big, but… there are so many places I still want to show him."

They sat in silence for a long time. "I can make a spell book for you," Wales spoke up, "If you want. I can gather some simple spells for you to try. And we can figure out what your specialty is. Only if you want though."

Canada took a moment to think about it. Magic wasn't really his thing. He probably would be better off not tampering with it. But… it was really cool playing music in the open air. And maybe, he would find a part of himself that he had lost. "I'd like that."

88888

"Where are we going?" America asked. Australia had a wild idea of exploring the forest, and that there was a particular place he wanted to see again.

"I think it's called Lock Uaine. At least that was what I was told when I asked about it as a kid."

"What does the name even mean?"

Australia shrugged.

The forest was starting to freak America out. He didn't like the wilderness all that much; he preferred the hustle and bustle of the city. "Can you at least tell me what it looks like, dude?"

"Well…" Australia stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes in thought, "It doesn't really look all that pretty. It's a dreary kind of place."

"So why do you want to see it?"

"I want to know if it still looks that way, or if it got cleaned up. You know? Besides," Australia opened up his eyes and America noticed they were glowing green, "There are a lot of rocks and stuff there too. The perfect place for an adventure."

"Your eyes are glowing."

"I bet they are. Come on!"

"Why are your eyes glowing?"

"I'm using magic so we don't get lost. Last thing we want is to be here in the dark."

"It's hours away from sunset."

"Not if we get lost, mate."

They trudged through the forest, America on Australia's heels. "Since when can you use magic?" America eventually asked, still not getting over it.

"England taught me. I kept getting lost all the time and he figured I could send up a flair so he could find me. It turned into me being able to find my way around and not needing his help all the time."

They continued walking for a while. The trees came closer and closer together to the point where America could no longer see the sky above. Eventually, the two nations came to a clearing. The sight of it nearly paralyzed America. It was a giant pond full of muck; it wasn't exactly mud because it was black, but it certainly acted like that. The trees surrounding it were all black and charred, almost like there was a fire. The weirdest thing of all was that there was no sound at all. Not even the wind.

Australia let out a low whistle. "Just like I remembered it."

"What happened here?" America asked slowly.

"It was like it when I first saw it." Australia started climbing up on the nearby rock. It was huge, almost as tall as the trees around.

America had an uneasy feeling about the place. He couldn't place why; it was a gut feeling that wouldn't go away.

"What happened here?!" came the cry of England from nearby.

Australia ran back over the America as England ran up to the edge of the lake.

"Engl… oh, God." Northern Ireland appeared and stopped from the sight of the place. He looked over at Australia and America questioningly. The two younger nations shrugged. Ireland came out from the forest then; his face paled at the sight of the place.

"Someone cursed this place," England said, standing up, "This isn't natural."

"Ok," Ireland said, "But why would anyone curse a lake? Especially out here where there is no one around."

England started pacing. "Someone heartless. Someone…" England finally noticed Australia and America. "…someone like one of them!"

"Now that's just rude!" America said.

"You did this. I can tell. This place feels about as rotten as you."

"Come on now, England," Northern Ireland said, putting a hand on England's shoulder, "He can't use magic, so it couldn't have been him."

England looked like he didn't believe it one bit.

"How's this?" Northern Ireland continued, "We go back home and tell Scotty about it. There's probably a few ghosts wandering about here and he can figure it out."

England thought about it after a while before nodding and following Northern Ireland out of the woods. Ireland stayed behind with Australia and America. "He is right about one thing," Ireland said once they were alone, "This place does have your aura, America."

"But how? I don't have magic and this is England's place."

"When magic is cast, it always has the aura of the person who casted it. You did this, and that is a fact."

America gritted his teeth.

"Look," Ireland said, slightly groaning, "I'm not blaming you. I'm just stating a fact. Who knows what happened here? We'll get Scotland to take a look and see if we can get a story and figure out a way to fix this."

"But I can't use magic!"

"You used to," Ireland said, "You used to use it all the time. It was flashy and bright, like you are. Then you suddenly stopped using it. And you couldn't see the fairies either."

"Didn't Wales say once you could look into the past? Why can't you do that now to see what happened?" Australia asked.

Ireland sighed, "That would make it useful, now wouldn't it?" The Irishman looked bitter. "I can only see what I have seen in the past. So, I have no idea what happened in the past for, as an example, China."

"That's useful," America said sarcastically.

"I agree." They all look at the muck filled lake. Eventually, America couldn't take anymore of the sight of the place and left. The whole way back to England's house, he felt this heavy weight in the pit of his stomach.

88888

Canada knocked on America's door hesitantly. He saw his brother come back in a bit of a huff. It had been several hours since then and the sun was setting. "Alfred?" Canada asked, finally getting over his nerves and opening the door.

America's old room was hardly touched from the days before his independence. The only thing that really changed were the sheets of the bed. There was still the toy box in the corner filled with toys from a few centuries ago that museums would consider antique. A small army of soldiers guarded the windowsill, except for one that rested on its own on the bedside table; its left arm was missing, and thusly carried no weapon.

"What, Canada?" America snapped. He sat on the edge of the bed away from the door looking out the window to the courtyard. The flowers sway innocently in the wind.

"Did something happen?"

"No."

Canada rolled his eyes. He hated when America got into a mood like this. He would say anything to get people off his back as he sulked about something minor and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. "Bullshit."

America turned around, shocked with Canada's language. He looked awful. It wasn't that he was crying, but he was emotionally close to it. He looked visibly pained, something Canada has seen several times, especially during war time.

"What's wrong?" Canada joined America on the bed, putting an arm around his brother's shoulders.

America stood up. "Apparently I can do magic. And I fucked up big time." He explained to Canada what happened out in the forest. As the story was being told, there was a sense of familiarity around it, like Canada knew what happened, but not enough to say so. "But this can't be happening," America finished, "Because I don't have magic! I don't know how many times I have to tell people. First Arthur, then Abigail, now the Irelands."

"Have you thought that maybe they're right?" Canada said carefully.

"You believe them?"

Canada didn't say anything at first, knowing full well the next thing he said would be important. "I remember… when we were kids here… we would run around with the fairies of the forest and how you would give them all a light show, the best kind of all. And you turned to me once, saying that when you got a birthday, you would have a light show on that day for your people."

America calmed down. "…magic sparks, right?"

Canada nodded.

"Fine, ok," America sat back down on the bed, "What the hell happened then? Why can't I remember magic in my life, but you can?"

Canada shook his head. "I don't know…"

America let himself flop on the bed. "This blows."

Canada did the same. He held up his hands and started playing "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again." It was a tune that America would constantly sing for a few decades, and it annoyed everyone at world meetings, mainly because of how terrible America's singing was.

"Neat trick," America said, smiling weakly.

Canada let his hands fall when he was done with the song. "There was one time, we were all alone in England's house and there was a ghost chasing us. You sneaked down and got England's spell book. Together, we tried to find a spell that would banish the ghost which you did. You made me feel safe, like nothing would ever harm us." 'It was the first time you were called a hero,' Canada thought to himself, 'My hero.'

They stayed there in silence like that for a long time, even when the room got totally dark and the only light came from the moon and fairy light outside the window. The moment broke when Scotland found them; he turned on the lights and told them that dinner was ready.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Lock Uaine - Green Lake

Not that any of the characters are saying things with their flowers, but I the author like shoving meaning in fun places. Begonias have several meanings; the one I was interested in was harmonious communications between friends and family members. As for primroses, one of their meanings is youth.

My ongoing headcannon for Canada is that he has a great singing voice, it's just that he is so quiet and he had no confidence in his singing usually. His mysterious boyfriend has changed that; that is a topic I'll be exploring later.


	13. Chapter 13

_"It took a week to convince your crew they could use an extra pair of hands," England said completely unimpressed. Illness had swept over Spain's crew, making working Spaniard hands run a bit short. _

_ "They are technically prisoners."_

_ "I'm sorry, would you like to be stranded in the middle of the imaginary ocean?" England raised an eyebrow, "Since none of this matters anyway." It was one thing to say that the world around them was not real, it was another matter entirely to believe it. England still really didn't believe it, even though it was the best explination. He could still smell the ocean clear as day. _

_ Spain sighed. "At least they are all working together… though I do have a question about your captain."_

_ "What about him?" England tensed immediately._

_ "He seems different from the rest of your crew."_

_ "He's a captain. I'd expect him to be different from the rest of my crew."_

_ "Not like that."_

_ "In what way are you insinuating?" England gritted his teeth, staring out ahead of him, trying not to look at the Spaniard._

_ Before Spain could explain any further, a fight let out below between Captain Henderson and two of Spain's crew members. The British captain looked exceedingly worried. _

_ Spain and England walked down on the main deck. The Spaniard was asking his crew for an explination from his crew about what happened. England walked along the edges of the standoff, ready to intervene at a moment's notice. He hoped it wouldn't come to it for the dignity of his greatest captain._

_ "Basta! Mateo, Samuel!" Spain eventually said, walking to the middle of the scuffle._

_ It was at that moment one of the two Spaniards in the middle, broke through Captain Henderson's strength and cut his shirt. The British officer started bleeding terribly. With one graceful swoop, England took off his jacket and placed it over Captain Henderson. He escorted his captain off the deck and into Spain's quarters. _

_ "Are you alright?" England asked once he closed the door._

_ "No," Captain Henderson said, clearly pissed off, "It wasn't a fair fight. I could have easily won if it was one on one."_

_ England raised an eyebrow. "Yes, an excellent example for the rest of the crew, captain."_

_ "I certainly didn't start it. They were egging on Eddy, and we know what his temper is like."_

_ England knew Captain Henderson was right. Eddy was usually in the middle of fights on England's ship. So much so that England knew this was to be that sailor's last trip on the sea under his leadership. England sighed. "Sit," he instructed his captain, "Let's take care of that wound. Ok?" England grabbed some cloth and water. He knew of a trick to get a wound to close up well with water. It was something North taught him a while back. _

_ "Sir, permission to ask a question."_

_ "As long as you keep still."_

_ "Why do you keep me around?"_

_ "Because you are an amazing captain, one of the best. And we both know that's saying something."_

_ "But if anyone knows…"_

_ "Hey, I think I'm the only one who can do as he pleases without fear of losing his job. So long as you wish to stay on the sea, I will protect you."_

_ That made the captain smile. At that moment, Spain came into the room. There was an awkward moment where Spain was frozen in the doorway, and Captain Henderson was questioning whether or not to move. _

_ "Spain, either come in or get out," England glared at the Spaniard, "Either way, close the bloody door."_

_ Spain closed the door behind him. _

_ "Did you get your crew under control?" England asked, continuing to clean up Captain Henderson's wound. _

_ "Si, we have peace again." Spain looked at Captain Henderson. "You certainly are a troublemaker."_

_ "I was one as a child, sir," Captain Henderson explained, "I've grown a bit since then."_

_ "Much like your admiral," Spain said, and he grinned. _

_ "Would you mind keeping this between ourselves?" England said once he finished healing the wound. His head felt heavy again; healing magic did that to him. It didn't come as easy. He grabbed a fresh shirt and handed it to Captain Henderson. "There are some things that are better left in shadows. Speaking of which, sir," England called for attention from the captain, "I don't mean to sound rude, and I only ask because I'm trying to get my head straight," he leaned in so that only Captain Henderson could hear, "but it is still he, correct?"_

_ "Sir, yes, sir," the British captain answered officially. When England called him at ease, he asked, "Sir, you have seemed a bit off recently. Is everything ok?"_

_ "No." England looked at his beloved captain, and knew at the pit of his heart that the man standing in front of him had past away a long time ago. Captain Myles Henderson lived a good long life, even after retiring from the navy. He died in his sleep, his husband by his side out in the country. A quiet end for England's favorite captain. "My memories have been jumbled and trying to sort them out has been a bit of a nightmare. Bear with me."_

_ "I have this far, admiral. And you know I would go to the ends of the earth in your service." Captain Henderson, now clothed properly once again, saluted in gratitude. _

_ "Please keep our crew in check," England kindly ordered his captain, "I don't want another fight like that to break out."_

_ "Will do, sir." Captain Henderson walked out._

_ England sighed and took a seat at the edge of the bed. Exhaustion swept over him like poison. He heard Spain say something as he fell into a deep sleep._

88888

_ England patrolled the dark and empty streets of the city of London. This blackout was all over the metropolis, not just in the city itself. The stillness of the place made it very eerie to England; he wasn't used to the city being this quiet. It was like London was holding its breath, waiting for the storm of German planes to come. England looked up to the sky when he heard the first of the planes. He could just make out one flying past in the sky. After a few minutes, England could make out more of them. Scouting, that was what they were doing, and soon the bombs would start raining down. The one time he wished that London wasn't based on the river. Alright, he had wished for that several times, especially during the summer of 1858, but this time more than the rest. Those other times were inconveniences. The planes up there were ready to strike._

_ The people had been taken to safety already, in the Underground. The tunnels down there were big enough to hold people and deep enough to protect them from the bombs. Not everyone was down there though: England had a volunteer brigade of people to protect the historical buildings of the city. But even then, who could say which buildings would be hit. _

_ The first of the bombs fell someplace inside the city itself. The first round of them hit in some jagged line from around St. Paul's Cathedral all the way to the Parliament building. The building lit up for a few minutes, then all was dark once again until a new wave of bombs came in. Then, the fires lit up the night._

_ One bomb hit St. Paul's Cathedral directly. England's eyes got wide and he ran towards it. The fires around the city were ablaze by that point in time. The smoke made a large cloud that seemed to sit just over the tops of every building. The orange flames alighting the dark night sky. The wooden buildings were fueling a fire that would not be tamed by any one person alone. Not even by Sir Bloodworth, if he actually tried. Only a miracle could tame this kind of flame before it could do any more damage. Explosions could be heard all over London: from the bombs and buildings being blown up to stop the fire from spreading further._

_ Another bomb hit the cathedral. Out of all the buildings this one had to be protected at all costs. It could not fall to the might of the Germans. If this one building fell, all hope would be lost. And England could not have that for his people. Especially not after what happened with France's own country with the Nazis taking over._

_ Another bomb hit the cathedral, and another. England stopped running; all he could do was watch as he saw the building being blown to bits, helpless to defend it._

**England?**

England opened his eyes and looked up at Wales, who was standing over him. England was in a chair in the reading room near the fire. On the table was a bunch of different spell books, all open to various pages. One of them was his own, but he didn't recognize the others.

"Is everything alright?" England asked, the dream still feeling too real. He shook his head to divert the fog that was clouding his mind. 'Why can't you stay away?'

"About as alright as they can be," Wales said, "I would have left you there, but I don't want you catching a cold."

England nodded. "It wouldn't do me any good to catch anything right now. I'm being shipped out tomorrow." He had received a message recently, calling him in to go to France for undercover work. He couldn't find the letter, though. He could have sworn he left it on his bedside, but it wasn't there. The fog got worse.

"What?" Wales' asked in surprise, though his face was still as unreadable as ever.

"Sudden, I know," England said, but he started realizing that maybe it was because that what he was saying wasn't really going on, "It's just an attempt to get some information on the Nazi situation in France… scouting, that's all."

Wales nodded; his eyes quickly looked away from England to the fire. England knew Wales did that when he was hiding something. His eyes were a tell, something England had picked up on some time ago.

"Is… something going to happen to me out there?" England asked, knowing full well that Wales' visions became more frequent when some dire event was looming on the metaphorical horizon.

"No, no, you'll be fine," Wales said quickly.

"But you did see something," England pointed out.

"Yes, nothing to do with your mission though. Just… an invasion that killed many people… trying to free France."

England tried to read though Wales' stony expression. It wasn't that he doubted what Wales was saying… 'If only this fog would leave me.' "Tell me," England said slowly, "Do you know anything about the German air bombs?"

"The Blitz… plenty." Wales sat in the arm chair next to England, "What do you want to know?"

There were many questions on England's mind. The first being why Wales called the air bombing 'The Blitz'. "Will London survive?" London, the capital of his nation. If it fell, the rest of his country would too.

Wales nodded gravely, "Yes, London will survive. It will take a beating, but it takes a lot to beat the spirit out of your people."

England nodded. He would have asked more questions, but the fog in his head could no longer be driven off.

* * *

**Author's Note**: I feel like this is going to be a popular question, so I'll explain it now. The midsection of the chapter is a dream sequence combining the Blitz of WW2 and The Great Fire of 1666.  
And Wales plays along with whatever time period England's head is at. He feels it's better that way than have to explain the present time period over and over again.


	14. Chapter 14

Scotland knew it was going to be a rough day. It always was when the first thing on the to do list was go talk to the dead. He could remember the days after a battle, walking through to find survivors and being bombarded with voices of fallen soldiers with families left behind. It was painful to ignore all the voices; he couldn't fulfill every request and thusly didn't.

That particular forest was a place Scotland hadn't explored for centuries. This was England's favorite forest, though Scotland never heard the reason why. The air within its borders felt ancient. The fae milled around on their own business. All was quiet.

And then, it all turned silent as Scotland got to the lake. The place was even painful to look at. Scotland could remember when this place was bright and full of growing things. Now, everything was dead. The whole place reeked of America's aura… 'What the fuck did you do?' Scotland thought bitterly, as he walked on the edge of the lake.

"You…" a quiet voice said. Scotland turned and saw a ghost of a fairy dressed in black rags sitting on a rock nearby. "How is it that you outlive me?"

Scotland recognized this fairy to have been a water nymph in life. This creature looked as though they had been through a tough battle, with bruises and scars all over their skin. They had barely any hair, and the flowers that they had on their person had wilted.

"That's just how it goes with us nations. We live, and see everyone else fall around us."

The nymph looked thoughtful. "That would explain a lot… Scotland."

The nation nodded. "What happened here? When did this become…" Scotland was at a loss for words.

"A long time ago. It's been a few centuries… I just… I can't get myself to move on from this place…"

"It's hard to move on when the place you called home needs help."

"There was a boy in a white dress and a red bow tie around his neck. He had bright blue eyes like the sky and straight blonde hair, though one tuff was curled up. He wanted to try a spell… it backfired… he looked so scared."

From the description alone, Scotland already knew who this was. "What was his name?" he asked, just to get confirmation.

"I think his brother called him… America…"

Scotland gritted his teeth. "So he did do this."

"Don't blame him!" the nymph said hurriedly, "He didn't mean for this to happen, and he certainly doesn't remember. His brother helped him forget this. Though, I think the spell effected them both."

"It was that traumatic, then?"

"It would be for an adult, let alone a child, nation or not. The torture of all us magical folk isn't something one ever forgets, unless by magical means."

Scotland looked out at the lake. What could be done? What was America even trying to do in the first place, and did it even matter anymore? All Scotland knew was that there were only two people who could heal this place properly: England (since this was in his nation) or America (since this was his fault). Northern Ireland could probably heal it as well, since he had a gift for that sort of magic. "This place will be restored. I promise that much to you, nymph."

The nymph smiled and for a moment, lit up. "Thank you… grace be with you, Scotland." The nymph faded and Scotland was alone once again.

'So, this is why America and Canada suddenly stopped seeing the fairies,' Scotland thought, 'I knew there had to be a good reason.' Sure, the reason wasn't good, but it was a better explanation than they got older.

Australia was sitting the wrong side up on the couch. His feet were pointing to the sky and his head was touching the ground. Currently, he was texting his government about official things, since his new boss was coming in soon. That reminded him, he had to go explain the whole nation thing to this dude. It was not going to be a fun conversation. There was one time in which one of his newly positioned bosses tried to kill him because of fraud.

"You know what would a great idea," Australia said out loud as he sent the newest text message away.

"What?" Wales asked. He was on the other side of the room, reading the day's newspaper. He held a yellow highlighter, twirling it around as he read.

"If we got the new bosses together and then explained the whole nation situation to them all in one room."

"It won't work like that. We all get new bosses at too many different times. You and Canada just happened to get yours on luck coincidence…" Wales trailed off his sentence as he found something interesting in the paper. "… and Switzerland now too," he said slowly as he highlighted a particular section.

"I know," Australia said disappointedly, "But what if? It would be so much less intimidating than going alone."

"It's just one of the many things we have to deal with."

"Aren't you cold?"

Wales put down the paper and would have objected to the comment, but America came into the room at that moment. He looked pissed coming in, holding Taliesin by the tail. "_This_," America pointed at the dragon, "was trying to smoke me again."

"That's odd," Wales said, folding the paper up, "Usually after a few days he starts being friendlier to people he's rough with."

Everyone in the room watched the dragon as he wriggled about, not happy at all about being held in midair by a guy five times his size. America did not look amused by Wales' statement.

"Just let him go, America. I'll sort him out."

"That's why you said yesterday." All the same, America let Taliesin go. The dragon immediately flew up to the ceiling fan and sat on one of the propellers. He started intently at America with the dragon version of evil eyes.

Wales looked up at Taliesin and shook his head. "I don't know what it is about you, but Taliesin is definitely mad at you for some reason."

"That is great," America said sarcastically, "Fucking brilliant, in British." He left the room.

"What's gotten under his skin?" Australia asked.

"I don't know… and it doesn't bode well." Wales extended his arm and the dragon hopped down to perch there. "What is your problem with America?" Wales asked Taliesin, "You used to like him."

Taliesin snorted out some smoke, not at all impressed.

Australia turned off the screen of his phone and followed America outside the room. America wasn't heading to any particular destination. He mainly just wanted to walk.

"Why can't that damn dragon leave me alone?" America asked bitterly.

"Clingy little thing, isn't he?"

"More like a fire ball if you ask me. He tries to burn my face off every time he sees me."

"Maybe he just doesn't like your sense of humor."

"This has been going on since day one, dude."

Australia just shrugged. America stopped in front of the kitchen door. Australia peered over his shoulder to see what stopped him; Canada was in there looking at his phone that was on a stand. "Oui, Papa," Canada said in fluent French, "Mais je ne peux pas viens à votre maison. Je suis désolé."

America held up one finger to his lips. Australia already knew what he was going to do and grinned. America held up three fingers. Two. One. In a flash, America invaded the kitchen and scooped up Canada's phone. "Aussie, catch!" America tossed the phone over to Australia, who caught it easily.

"Attendre!" Canada shouted. He then realized what he said and changed languages. "Wait!" But by that time, Australia and America were already making a beeline to the courtyard.

"G'day, France!" Australia said to the phone where France's face was shown looking both confused and amused, "Sorry about this, but your call has been hijacked for the present moment."

"Australia? Is that you?" France asked, confused about what was going on.

"Yep."

"Along with me, the hero!" America said, leaning in so that France could see his face too.

"And why have you two stolen Matthew's phone?" France said, in a slightly scolding tone, though he was smiling all the same.

"Who?" Australia asked, looking at America.

"He means Canada," America explained, "Matthew is his human alias."

"Huh," Australia said. He may have heard Canada being called "Matthew" before but it had been a long time and thusly forgot. He thought the name suited the Canadian well. "Well, the phone has been hijacked for fun," Australia explained, "We've been too serious for too long in this old house."

"Aren't you two little rascals?" France said, smiling and shaking his head.

"Come on, hurry up," America said, looking behind and speeding up his pace, "Canada is faster than you think."

Australia glanced behind. Canada was behind the two of them by about ten paces and catching up fast. "Ok, gotta go, France."

"Don't hang up the phone!" France pleaded, "I would like to see what happens."

"Sure," Australia shrugged. He and America ended up in the courtyard before Canada completely caught up to them. Australia lept up into the tree in the middle and quickly got himself up into the higher branches. 'I never expected him to be that fast,' he thought as he climbed.

"Give me back my phone!" Canada shouted annoyed.

Australia just stuck out his tongue and climbed higher.

"Australia!" Canada whined, then he turned to America with a death glare in his violet eyes, "This is all your fault." His voice took a menacing tone.

"Come on, Matt. It's just a bit of fun." America raised his hands in playful defense.

"Not when I'm talking to my dad!" Canada started chasing America around the courtyard. They took turns shouting insults to each other and Australia was reminded of when the three of them lived in the house together. It wasn't a long time, since America went and became independent and soon after Canada went off to fight America in a war.

"While we are up here," France said, "I want to say congratulations on your new boss. Do you know how you are going to explain things to him?"

"Nope. I never really do." Australia thought for a moment before saying, "I do have this idea, but I doubt I could actually make it a thing."

"And what may that be?" France asked interested. "I might be able to help if it is a good idea."

"A party, for us nations and the new bosses. A welcoming party for them and then during the party we break the news about us nations to them."

"Oh, that sounds like a great idea. We haven't had a party together in ages. Let's do it then. It would be a good excuse to gather on unofficial business for once."

"And what are you boys up to?" England's voice asked from down below. Australia peeked through the leaves and branches. England had his hands in fists on his waist, his head cocked to the side, and his right foot tapping impatiently.

"Shit," Australia said.

"And what are you doing up there, Australia?" England looked surprised through his annoyance. "Get down from there before you hurt yourself _again_, young man."

"And he thinks I'm a kid," Australia said under his breath, though it was loud enough for France to hear. The keep-away game had changed. Who cares whether or not Canada had the phone; England could not under any circumstances get the phone. Especially since France was on the line.

"Is that England?" France asked.

Australia jumped out of the tree, over England's head, rolled on the ground upon impact, and ran into the house, Canada and America right behind him. "Yeah, but he's in no condition to talk right now," Australia said quickly.

"Hey, get back here!" England shouted after them.

"He sounds fine to me," France commented, shrugging.

"He's not, Papa," Canada said, finally grabbing the phone out of Australia's hand, "He's having memory problems. Right now, he thinks that we're still his kids. Well, that we're still living in his house as kids."

"Oh, now that is a problem indeed," France sounded concerned, "How did this happen?"

"I'll explain once I'm not being chased," Canada promised. He went ahead of Australia and America.

America slowed down. "Might as well give him some time," he said, stopping.

"What do you suggest we do then?" Australia asked.

"Talk?"

"Now where's the fun in that?" Australia said, rolling his eyes. It did feel good being able to conduct shenanigans with America again. "I have a better idea. Follow my lead."

Australia waited for England to turn the corner, but by that time, England had significantly slowed his pace and was wheezing a bit. "Never mind," Australia said, "I forgot the old guy tires easily now a days." He walked over to England, "You alright, mate?"

"You kids run way too fast for your own good," England panted. America steered him over to the side, and sat him down on the window sill to catch his breath. "Where's Canada?"

"Not sure," Australia shrugged, "He outran me and America."

"What were you even doing?"

"We were just having some fun with Canada, that's all," America said.

"It looked like you were terrorizing him," England said, not at all convinced at America's answer, "Again."

"You're just exaggerating, as usual," America said, "He was fine with it."

England still didn't look convinced. "I'm going to look for Canada, to make sure he is alright. You two stay out of trouble." England started walking away.

"Do you think that was enough time for Canada to finish his call?" Australia asked.

"He should be fine…" America said, "But… maybe we should stick with England. Just in case."

"Maybe terrorize him a bit?"

The two nations grinned at each other, then caught up with England to help make his search for Canada difficult as ever.

88888

When Ireland walked into the kitchen, Northern Ireland was looking through a picture book with a longing look in his eyes. The book was something that Northern Ireland created not too long ago, maybe about 50 years or so, full of pictures of the northern coast of his land. Northern Ireland's light blue eye was glowing softly.

Ireland sat down next to his brother. "Missing home again?" Ireland asked.

Northern Ireland nodded. "I had a vision of home, and… well…" He looked at one particular photo of a cliff by the seashore. Just like Ireland, Northern Ireland would have visions of the past, though not as frequently and not as bad. "I just… I got homesick."

"Be glad it's only that and not something worse."

Northern Ireland nodded. "I'm not complaining. It's easier now that I'm with you."

"Is it?"

Northern Ireland nodded and pointed to the spot between Ireland's eyes. "It's your eyes. They always remind me of home. The blue one for the sea; the green one for the forests. I can see them in your eyes clearly."

Ireland shook his head, "Only because you have nation eyes. Human eyes don't pick up that sort of thing."

"Wrong." Northern Ireland booped Ireland playfully in the nose. "I noticed that the first time I met you."

Ireland blinked out of surprise, "You must be remembering wrong."

Northern Ireland shook his head. "No, I remember that day clearly. I asked you if you were one of the fae, for you had mismatching eyes that looked as though they were taken from the land itself."

"And I told you no."

"Except that was a lie, because they are." Northern Ireland was on the brink of laughing.

Ireland could not help but smile. Then his surroundings changed and _he was standing at the northern boarder of his land, the one before he and Northern Ireland split. In front of him was Northern Ireland, though much younger, looking out into the sea. He wore a tattered cloak and on his head was a crown of shamrocks Ireland made for him earlier._

_ "Do you ever think that we'll explore other lands?" Northern Ireland asked, turning to look at Ireland. His eyes were both light blue, like the sky, and that current moment filled with a sense of adventure._

_ "Who knows? But I'm content staying on this island with you."_

_ Northern Ireland closed his eyes and smiled. When he opened them again, his eyes looked to someone behind Ireland. "And who are you?"_

_ Ireland turned and saw Britannia. She introduced herself to the two of them. "I know you who you are, Ireland," she said, looking down at the young nation, "But I don't know who you are," she looked at Northern Ireland, "What is your name, child?" She seemed curious._

_ "It's __Spéir… but Ire calls me North."_

_ "And where did that name come from?"_

**Ire… Earth to Ire…**

Ireland blinked and his vision returned to the kitchen. Northern Ireland's hand was in front of his face, waving furiously. "Something wrong?" Northern Ireland asked, concerned, as he put his hand down.

"No, just remembering."

"Nothing bad, right? No wars?"

"No, nothing bad."

"Good. It's bad enough you keep having nightmares about the wars." Northern Ireland shuttered slightly.

"…not like you have them."

"Aye, I do, actually," Northern Ireland said, "And even if I didn't, I would still be concerned for you. War is horrible to experience the first time around."

This was news to Ireland. His brother never seemed to have nightmares, at least not ones bad enough to wake up screaming from. "You never said anything about it before."

"Because I don't want to worry you. I can handle my own too, you know. I've survived this long, right?"

"…aye. You can be as strong headed as Mum sometimes."

Northern Ireland smiled a bit and calmed down. "I should hope so. I am her child too."

_Ireland was back at the cliff. Britannia had knelt down and put a hand on Northern Ireland's head. "My blessing be upon you, North. May you be protected by the graces of the land. May they one day bless you with their power."_

_ Northern Ireland's eyes shown white for a moment. "What are you doing?" Ireland asked in a panic. When he looked at Northern Ireland's eyes again, they had changed; one was still the light blue it always was, but the other was a light green. They reflected the sky and grass of the land around them. Ireland would have been entranced by them and how they reflected in the light if it weren't for Britannia being right there._

_ "I have blessed your brother, to protect him from all that is to come. Let me bless you too, Ireland."_

_ Britannia placed her hand on Ireland. "My blessing be upon you, Ireland. May you be protected by the graces of your land and the love of your people. As their energy flows through you, so does your energy flow through them." Ireland did not feel any different, except he felt more in tune with the land around him. He could feel the trees of the forest, the crashing of the waves against the rocks, even the people of the land going about their daily business. _

**You're doing it again.**

Northern Ireland was looking at his brother, half amused, with his head in his hand.

"It's not like I can control it," Ireland said, shaking his head to clear away the vision. He almost got himself completely absorbed in the memory, something that happened to him quite often.

"You are obligated to tell me now, since this is the second time it's happened in one sitting. In the past five minutes."

"…it's when Mum found us."

"And she had no idea what I was?" Northern Ireland said with a small smile.

"Don't make it sound like a joke."

"But it's true. Might as well make it a joke. Better to laugh than cry. Scotland did tell her that I am a nation, so she knows now."

"Like that helps any."

"It'll make things less awkward when we go to heaven."

"Don't talk about such things. It's a bad omen." Ireland never liked talking about death and dying, especially around a table. It always ended up on the topic of war, which Ireland had to deal enough with as it were.

"I'll leave it then. Only for you, Ire."

88888

Canada found his old hiding spot that he had always retreated to when America was being annoying. It was in this wardrobe that was blocked by a table in a storage room. This wardrobe had a bottom door, that opened regardless of the table blocking it. It was smaller than Canada had remembered it, but he was still able to fit all the same.

"So, what is wrong with Angleterre?" France asked.

"He overdosed on something and now his memory's all mixed up. We aren't sure what happened."

"Do you know what on? It can't be his pathetic excuse for alcohol."

"No, it's some substance called ambrosia." Canada recalled what Wales told him before. It still was weird to him that a substance from mythology was having such a hold in the present.

"Oh, I have seen this before. Some human thought it was a good idea to sell it a long time ago, and it caused a lot of death. It took some time for me and several other nations to find him and take care of this substance. I thought we got rid of it for good. I guess not."

"No," Canada agreed.

"Now it is clear why you won't be visiting me. You are needed over there a little more than here."

"Oui, Papa. Maybe I can come over when this is all sorted out."

"I would like that very much."

Canada heard footsteps outside the storage room. "I've got to go, Papa."

"Go now, but call me when Angleterre is better. We may not get on the same foot most of the time, but I do care about his welfare. Who else would I get to bicker with if he is gone?"

Canada hung up the phone and crawled out of the hiding place. Scotland was right there, in the door way. He looked shocked as Canada stood up. "You continually surprise me," Scotland said, "What were you doing under there?"

"Hiding."

"From?"

"England."

Scotland laughed. "He's not that menacing."

"Easy for you to say," Canada muttered, "He can be quite scary with those eyebrows of his."

"If you knew the things I did to him, you wouldn't find him scary at all. He's only just a wee lad trying to fill shoes that are too big for him. Or he did once."

"And right now he still does," Canada stated warily. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I'm looking for a spell book I lost a while back. I think it's in here…"

"But why? It hasn't changed in years." Everything looked just as Canada remembered it when he lived in the house, minus the extra layers of dust.

Scotland shrugged, "England throws useless but important things in this room. I'm hoping he found my spell book and just tossed it in here."

Canada looked around the room. There was a bookshelf with a glass door, and a basket filled with books. There were several chests around the room, and then, of course, there was the top part of the wardrobe blocked by the table. "What does it look like?" Canada asked.

"It's old," Scotland said, looking through the basket, "And falling apart. Leather bound. And has a bunch of letters sticking out."

"Letters?"

Scotland smirked. "Curse letters. I used to send them to England during Queen Victoria's reign. Ireland and Wales did too, but I did it the most. It was all in good fun really, but I think he had forgotten at that point we were brothers and kept thinking it was some political scheme."

Canada looked around the room again, but it looked different. It was like someone had changed a lens in his own eyes. Everything was shaded grey, until Canada looked at the wardrobe where he saw a violet light in the shape of a book. "I think it's here."

Scotland turned around and noticed Canada's eyes. "Alright, let's get the table out of the way." After doing so, and opening the wardrobe, there was Scotland's spell book. It was still in one piece. "Thanks, Canada."

Canada blinked and the world returned back to normal. He was shocked over what just happened. He had done that before, in various times in his life, but never was it done on command… at least not since he was a child.

"Alright, there?"

"I think so. I just… I haven't done that in a while."

"You must be good with finding things no one else can. I remember you doing that when you were a kid."

"…why do you need that spell book?" Canada asked wearily.

"Wales asked. He's making that spell book for you and asked to look at what I've got. Not that it will help any, but it would be nice to play around with these curse letters again." Scotland had an evil look in his eyes. "Most of the stuff in here is curses, and I don't think you are the type to be into that sort of thing."

"Only when it's absolutely necessary."

* * *

**Translation Note**: Mais je ne peux pas viens à votre maison. Je suis désolé. - I can't come over to your house. I am sorry. (Roughly.)

That is it for updates this week. Maybe next week I'll actually be on time. Until then, please comment.


	15. Chapter 15

_England noticed a flash come from the window. He looked up and realized that the rain had turned into a thunder storm. He was glad that he was on dry land for once and not out on the sea. The stormy seas were no safe place for any vessel. _

_ The door to England's study opened a bit. England looked up to see Canada, wide eyed in fear. "Um…" the younger nation said timidly. _

_ "What's wrong? I thought you were in bed," England said in a slightly chiding manner._

_ "Well…" There was another crack of lightning and Canada ran to England, clinging onto his leg. Little Canada started crying, burying his tears on England's trousers._

_ England closed his book and scooped up the scared Canada. "Shh," he said kindly, trying to get Canada to calm down, "It's just a bit of thunder. Nothing to be worried about."_

_ "B…b…but it's sssssso loud. Lo…louder than Ammmerica is."_

_ "Be sure not to mention that to him, because he'll take that as a challenge. And neither you or I would ever hear the end of it."_

_ Canada nodded, and sniffed. England took him back to his room. America was up as well, sitting on his bed holding his pillow. He was looking determined, which made England worried that something was about to go horribly wrong._

_ "And why are you up?" England asked with an eyebrow raised._

_ "Canada woke me up," America said, pointing an accusing finger at Canada._

_ Canada looked horrified by the accusation. "D…did not."_

_ "Did to."_

_ "Did not."_

_ "Did to."_

_ "Did not."_

_ "Di-"_

_ "CRASH!" There was a flash of lighting immediately accompanied by the thunder. Canada buried his face into England's shoulder and America yelped. England sat down on America's bed and put a hand out for the little nation. America came over and let his elder hold him. England did have to admit that last one even startled him a bit since it was so close. He rocked back and forth on the bed, and started singing quietly to calm his little ones._

_"Little child, be not afraid_

_The rain pounds harsh against the glass_

_Like an unwanted stranger_

_There is no danger_

_I am here tonight_

_Little child_

_Be not afraid_

_Though thunder explodes _

_And lightning flash_

_Illuminates your tear-stained face_

_I am here tonight_

_And someday you'll know_

_That nature is so_

_This same rain that draws you near me_

_Falls on rivers and land_

_And forests and sand_

_Makes the beautiful world that you see_

_In the morning."_

_ He put America and Canada back in their respective beds as he sang once he knew that they weren't clutching onto him for dear life. Canada had fallen back asleep; America was still awake, but it was obvious he was on the boarder of consciousness. The storm seemed to be calming down, which was a relief for England._

_"Little child_

_Be not afraid_

_The storm clouds mask your beloved moon_

_And its candlelight beams_

_Still keep pleasant dreams_

_I am here tonight_

_Little child_

_Be not afraid_

_The wind makes creatures of our trees"_

_ England glanced at the window, where the storm was still clearly visible to the occupants of the room. He walked over there and pulled the blinds closed so that, in case the lightning came back, the little ones wouldn't see it._

_"And the branches to hands_

_They're not real, understand"_

_ Which he said more to the comfort of the children than what was really true. Sometimes, the creatures most people would deem as fiction were real; not in the case for that day, but sometimes they were and they even scared England._

_"And I am here tonight_

_And someday you'll know_

_That nature is so_

_This same rain that draws you near me_

_Falls on rivers and land_

_And forest and sand_

_Makes the beautiful world that you see_

_In the morning"_

_ He kissed Canada and America on the forehead as a goodnight gesture and headed to the door to leave._

_ "England?" America asked quietly._

_ "Hm?" England tried not to groan. He was hoping America had fallen asleep again._

_ America had sat up and was looking at England with questioning eyes. "Why does the sky do that? All the lights and sound?"_

_ England came back to America's bed. "It's because someone told a really good joke up in heaven and God is laughing."_

_ "Does he have to sound so mean doing that?" America asked, not buying it at all._

_ England glanced up at the ceiling for a moment. "I guess not."_

_ "Come on, what's the real reason? I'm not a kid, you know."_

_ "Oh, really?" England asked amused. Once again, America had that determined look on his face, which made his statement all the more amusing. England sometimes forgot that America wasn't the five year old his physical appearance and personality suggested he was. "It's… just something that happens when it rains really hard."_

_ "But couldn't it just rain lightly? I like it better when it does that. Then I can play outside."_

_ "Not all the time. Sometimes it does have to rain really hard. That's how the plants grow and the rivers don't dry up. Now go to sleep."_

_ "Can we go out and explore tomorrow? Maybe one of trees got struck by the lightning."_

_ England highly doubted it. "Only if you go to sleep."_

_ America lay back down on the bed and England got up to leave the room. When he opened the door, Taliesin was there. He ran over to America and curled up beside him. America reached out to the dragon and held the creature close to him like a teddy bear. England went back downstairs, where Wales was standing by the fireside looking very wet._

_ "Did you have to travel in that?" England asked._

_ "Yes, I did," Wales said, taking off his cloak, "There's trouble coming. You're needed in the government."_

_ "Who is it this time?"_

_ "France."_

_ England groaned, "Of course the frog… How long until I have to be there?"_

_ Wales raised an eyebrow, "Why do you ask?"_

_ "I promised America we'd do something together tomorrow."_

_ "…As long as you ride out by week's end, you should be fine." Wales sighed as he collapsed into a nearby chair. "I'll be glad once long-distance communications are invented," he stated wearily._

_ "Is this from one of your visions?" England asked._

_ "Yes, it's an odd device; it sends out messages through taps. I'm not sure how it works and it won't come until a long time from now."_

_ England shook his head and sat down in a chair beside Wales. "Your visions are the strangest things."_

_ "But they have come in handy on many occasions. And will continue to do so." Wales glanced at the doorway to the room. "Where are the little ones?"_

_ "In bed, or they should be," England quickly turned around, half expecting America to be in the doorway of the room. Thankfully, he wasn't._

_ "I only ask because there was something else I saw, dealing with them."_

_ "Both of them?"_

_ Wales nodded. "Nothing anytime soon, but they will be at war with each other. I'm not sure why, though. I only ask for you to be careful when they get older."_

_ "They won't be at war with each other. They are with me."_

_ "One day, they won't." England gave Wales a scowl. "Or they might not," Wales added in, rolling his eyes, "But… you know nothing lasts forever, right?"_

_ England looked out of the window. "Surely, I'd be dead when they go to war on each other." The rain continued to pour._

88888

_ It bothered England that there hadn't been any change in his condition. That he couldn't break free of the fog plaguing his head. It was aggravating. He did this to himself. This was all his fault. 'So why the bloody hell did I go through with this? Surely, I knew that this would have happened?' What was the drug?_

_ "You are a very tense person," Spain said, joining England at the railing._

_ "And you are too easy going," England retorted back, "How are you not concerned that his could be permanent?"_

_ "You take life one day at a time. That's how I got here."_

_ "And you have no regrets?"_

_ Spain didn't answer with some deep profound knowledge. That surprised England. What surprised him even more was Spain's answer. "I do have regrets. There are things I know I could have done better. People who I should have been better towards. But, what is the point when all is said and the damage has been done?"_

_ England could feel that deep within him. There was so much that he had done, people he had wronged, and lives he had changed for better or worse. "Time moves forward… all we can do is move along with it…" He knew he should take his own advice._

_ "We are nations. You'd think that we would know how to do this by now."_

_ "__You'd think," England agreed._

* * *

**Author's Note**: The song in this chapter is "Lullaby For A Stormy Night" by Vienna Teng.


	16. Chapter 16

_Spéir found himself running along the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea. The sky was melting into twilight and shooting stars were traveling across it. The ocean waves crashed against the cliff; the sparkling waters causing refreshing mist to rain everywhere. It was a magical moment, if he would have looked. However, Spéir's focus was elsewhere. _

_ He could feel something change within him. It was a feeling that he had never felt before. He could feel the land around him breathing. He could feel its pain, its joy, and its age within his very soul. _

_ "Ireland!" Spéir called out to his friend and twin. The nation was in front of him, looking out at the ocean. "Ireland! We have a problem!"_

_ Ireland didn't __acknowledge the fact he heard. His gaze unwavered and Spéir noted that he had a hard look on his face. Serious and angry. A look that Spéir had seen on his face more and more. "_Dá fhada an lá tagann an tráthnóna._" (No matter how long the day, the evening comes.)_

_ Spéir stopped. Ireland looked at his brother, a melancholy look in his eyes. "Will you stay with me?" Ireland asked sadly. _

_ "Of course I will. What kind of question is that?"_

_ Ireland walked over to Spéir and held both his hands. "Even if it tears our family apart?"_

_ Spéir had no answer. "You are sounding a lot like Wales…"_

_ "North," Ireland said, and he continued saying something, but the words were drowned out by the sound of rolling thunder. Spéir looked out into the sea. There was a storm raging in the distance. Lighting sparked in the clouds and the rain was coming down like a sheet. It sounded a lot closer than where it was…_

Northern Ireland woke up to the sound of heavy rain pounding on the window. It took him a few moments to shake off the dream and realize that it was actually raining. He sat up and went over to the window. It had been the first time in weeks that he had seen rain, and even longer that he had seen rain this heavy. It was coming down in sheets. Northern Ireland smiled widely. At long last, something he could do to help.

"Wake up, Ire! It's raining!"

Ireland rolled over and groaned. He was not a morning person, even on a good day. It was worse when there was a storm.

Northern Ireland ran over to Ireland's bed. "Come on, get up! Before it stops, because you know that's how our luck can run sometimes." Northern Ireland shook Ireland's shoulder until his brother opened his eyes and sat up.

"What is it, North?" Ireland groaned. He messaged his forehead with his fingers.

Northern Ireland was trying to find their dancing clothes. Not that the pants and the shirt made much of a difference besides aesthetic; the most important bit was the shoes which were by the bed. They were made for the purpose of Irish dance and magic. "It's raining, and it's raining hard." Once he found them, Northern Ireland threw a pair of dancing clothes at Ireland, hitting him square in the face, then put on the other pair. He looked up once he was dressed to see that Ireland was still in a drowsy daze. Northern Ireland shook his head, and put on the shoes. "Put those on and meet me outside." Northern Ireland darted out of the room, then came back in to add, "And hurry!"

As Northern Ireland ran through the halls heading to the courtyard, he felt excited. It had been a while since Northern Ireland did any substantial magic work. He knew it was going to be great.

Suddenly, Northern Ireland ran into Canada. They both crash to the ground and looked at one another in surprise. They both apologized at the same time.

"What's going on, North?" Canada asked. He was in his normal red sweatshirt that bore the flag of his nation on it.

"It's raining!" Northern Ireland said, helping Canada to his feet and then dancing a little with him. He knew, especially by Canada's look of confusion, that it must have been odd for someone to be excited about heavy rain. Northern Ireland didn't care.

Once Northern Ireland got outside, he dropped a large wooden board onto the grass area of the courtyard and tested it out so that it wouldn't wobble. Then, he warmed up his feet, humming the tune of "Flaming Red Hair". Yes, he watched the Lord of the Rings movies, with an unwilling Ireland.

"Don't you want a rain jacket, dude?" America asked, a yellow rain jacket in hand, accompanied by Canada.

"Not this time, Alfred," Northern Ireland said, smiling proudly, "Today, you shall see magic at its finest."

"You might get sick though," Canada commented worriedly.

"Not with this charm," Ireland said, coming out holding a wooden sheep charm up and carrying a CD player. Behind him were the rest of the family. Ireland put the charm over Northern Ireland's head; he too had a matching one over his own neck.

"Are you two going to dance?" Australia asked, "Out in the rain?"

"Best way to do this magic," Northern Ireland answered, "I need the energy of the rain."

"Awesome."

"Ready?" Ireland asked after setting up the CD player and joining Northern Ireland on the platform.

Northern Ireland nodded. Ireland pressed play on the player. The song that came out was "Wale Me Up". The upbeat guitar started off and the brothers tapped out the beat before starting. They had different choreography for this song, two different rhythms to completely capture it. It was something similar to two people singing in harmony. This was the kind of thing the brothers did together, mainly because Northern Ireland wanted to and Ireland went along with it. Ireland started singing the words to it; not in English but in Irish Gaelic, something that he put together. In the recent years, Ireland started translating popular songs into Irish Gaelic. Northern Ireland would have joined in with the singing as well, however he needed to concentrate on the spell. Once the modern techno part came in, the music on the player stopped and it was just the foot taps driving the song, the music coming from their feet. Northern Ireland could feel his magic at work. He could see the blue and green sparks flying off Ireland's shoes. By the second verse, Northern Ireland couldn't feel the rain anymore. He glanced over at Ireland; his brother smiled back at him. It was the first time in a long time that Northern Ireland seen him smile naturally like that.

Northern Ireland looked over at England, who had his armed crossed over his chest and didn't seem impressed by the dance. However, he was tapping his foot in beat, so he was invested more than he was letting on. Northern Ireland assumed that he was in the period of time where he wouldn't let anyone have any fun. That was a dark time. Northern Ireland tried to not let that get the better of him; after all, he had more important work to do.

The spell that he was casting was a powerful healing spell. The dance was only part of the spell; it was the build up of energy Northern Ireland needed for healing. He could feel the energy swirl all around him as the green and blue sparks jumped from his feet. It had been a long time since he felt this feeling. He smiled.

Once the song was done, everyone clapped. Ireland took a bow as Northern Ireland ran over to England and gave him a giant hug. He let his magical energy flow from himself to England, targeting the ambrosia plaguing his mind. It took more magic to do than he had originally anticipated, and almost completely collapsed into England's arms.

"Steady now," England said, supporting his brother. He looked concerned.

"That was amazing!" Australia, Canada, and America said in unison.

"Do another!" Australia added.

"Another?" Northern Ireland asked. He suddenly felt exhausted and slightly lightheaded. Maybe he should have had breakfast beforehand.

Ireland came up to Northern Ireland and checked his brother over. "Let's go inside and get out of this rain," he suggested, "We can talk about what to do after once we get warmed up."

The Irish twins were the first inside. Ireland sat Northern Ireland down on a chair. "You used up a lot of energy…" Ireland said worriedly.

"It just came out… I don't know why. But it was what was needed, so it's ok."

"…take it easy after breakfast, ok? I don't want you passing out."

Northern Ireland hugged his brother around the waist. "I won't. I promise. We only need one sick person to worry about."

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After breakfast, America and Northern Ireland ended up in the sitting room, next to the fireplace. England was there as well, but he was studying a book on ancient Celtic history. America was going through his news feed, sifting for anything interesting. Anything other than memes; his states really loved sending him the stuff. As much as America appreciated good memes, he wasn't in the mood.

"Something wrong?" Northern Ireland asked, trying to get himself comfortable wrapped up in a blanket.

"…you know that lake in the forest?" America said, turning off the screen of his phone, "I feel guilty. Like, I don't remember it at all but everyone is saying that I did all that. Even if I didn't actually… I still feel guilty. I don't like hurting people. I'm the hero! I'm supposed to _save_ people."

Northern Ireland nodded. "I'm like that too. I want everyone to be happy all the time. But… sometimes that can't happen." Northern Ireland stared at the fire, "Sometimes, you have to do what's right for you, even if it does mean walking away."

"That doesn't change the guilt."

"No. Sometimes… you have to live with it and move on. It sucks, but…" Northern Ireland shrugged.

"I can't do magic… but I want to heal that place. I want to make it right."

"Tomorrow, we can go and look at it together. I'll do my best to help. I want to heal that place too. Honestly, I can't believe no one knew about it until now."

America looked into the fire. The flickering flames danced about in a mesmerizing pattern. "I don't like feeling helpless…"

"Like?"

America looked at England, who was dozing off in his chair. The American figured it was a boring book. "There have been many times in my past where I was useless in the face of things. I hate that feeling. I want to be strong. I want people to rely on me." He thought back to his civil war. Everyone was fighting all around him and nothing he did made the situation any better. It took everything to keep himself together. Even then… it wasn't enough…

"I came to the conclusion long ago that no one can be a single strong pillar. Any nation that has tried has broken in spectacular fashion…" Northern Ireland looked over to where England was, "Take him for example. He was close to having the entire world in the palm in his hand. And now, well… But let's say this didn't happen, he still wouldn't be standing alone. He would have had us standing behind him, adding to his might and giving him support. Everyone needs support, and it isn't a bad thing. It keeps you sane."

America looked back to his past. Even at the beginning, when he was nothing more than a dream several small colonies shared, it was because several people banned together to overcome adversity. He was still built on that philosophy.

"So, I have a question for you," Northern Ireland sat up and moved so that he was shoulder to shoulder with America, "Can you please explain to me how your baseball can have a world series, but the only teams that play in it are from your country exclusively?"

America blinked in surprise and then started laughing out loud. England startled awake because of this, since America's laugh was a very piercing sound. "I mean, if you want to come along, you're going to have to get good." The two of them talked about baseball for a while; it was mostly America talking since this was one of his many specialties.

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Canada found Ireland after breakfast changing into casual clothes: a simple t-shirt and black jeans. His hair was still wet from being outside in the rain.

"What did you think?" Ireland asked, when he noticed Canada walk into the room. "Of the performance?"

"It was amazing. You two are very skilled at dancing."

"It takes a lot of practice, I can tell you that. I sucked when we first started."

"And North didn't?"

"He was a lot better at the beginning. So, what can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I could ask you something that's been on my mind for a long time now," Canada said timidly, "You and North seem to have a special connection. A special bond. Why is that? Is it because you are twins?"

Ireland looked down at his shirt before putting it on, thinking about what to say. "No, because truth be told, we aren't proper twins. We aren't blood brothers…" Ireland looked at the sheep charm around his neck, then glanced at Canada, who was looking back expectantly. "When… when I was born, I was alone for some time. All I knew was my name: Ireland. And then I met Spéir, a human who immediately knew I wasn't one of his kind. At first, I thought he was some mutant leprechaun, but he told me all about his life in the village by the sea. We became fast friends, and we explored my land all the time. I gave him the nickname North… I forget the reason why now, but it always sounded better than Spéir, especially as time wore on. Mum eventually found us, and she cared for both of us, even though she had no idea what to do with North. We grew up with Scotland, Wales, and England, and for a time we both forgot that we weren't really brothers. As the years wore on, something changed in him… he stopped being human. He knew things that at one point only I knew, like when a nation invaded or illness was spreading through the land. He became a nation, but I wasn't sure of what. That was, until sometime during the 1700's, more than a century since the plantings first began. I… it…" Ireland struggled to find the right words, "I figured that the northern bit of Ireland was starting to be different from the rest. The history… the culture… the religion even… they were different because of the plantings… It was no longer fully Ireland. And then, 1922 came along and the country of Northern Ireland was officially established."

"So… North was human once?" Canada asked, slightly surprised.

Ireland nodded. "No one else knows that. At least I don't think. And you better not tell them."

"I won't. I promise. But… how was he able to live for all that time? Before he became a nation?"

Ireland looked at Canada, who got the impression he was being judged. "…you know how you can keep your bear alive with you as a companion, right?"

Canada nodded, not entirely sure where this was going.

"We nations can keep one living thing with us without it dying. A human life is included with that."

"And you kept North alive?"

Ireland nodded. "I had no idea. I wanted a friend. I didn't want to be alone. This is why I just can't simply forgive what England had done to me. Separating North from me."

"Did Northern Ireland not have a say?"

Ireland stayed quiet for a moment. "…if England had minded his own business, none of this would have happened."

Canada shrugged, "Maybe. A lot of things wouldn't have happened if England minded his own business. But, here we are now, and nothing can be done about what happened. You can't change history."

"…you can only change what you do after," Ireland mused, "Britannia used to tell me and North something similar, when it came obvious that our gifts allowed us to see into the past." Ireland took a deep breath.

'What is it with these ex-British nations getting over shit?' Canada thought for a moment before telling himself to knock it off. He didn't walk in Ireland's shoes, nor would he ever want to.

* * *

**Author's Note**: America can talk anyone's ear off about baseball, and he can do so even more about American football. And he and Canada get into arguments all the time about hockey, however it is only Canada who can go on and on about the sport.

**Translation**** Note**: Dá fhada an lá tagann an tráthnóna. - No matter how long the day, the evening comes. It's an Irish saying.

That is it for this week's update. Until next time, please comment.


	17. Chapter 17

_England was deep in the forest throwing stones so that they skipped in the water. He felt betrayed and alone. His friends the woodland creatures tried to help; but in the end they were only animals. He was human. Actually, more than that: he was a nation. His mother was a nation. Nations weren't supposed to die. 'So where did you go?' England thought bitterly. He threw a stone as hard as he could then sat down by the lakeside. Flying mint bunny came over and nuzzled up to him. Everyone that England got close to kept going away. Britannia… America… Canada… Australia… France… Scotland… the Irelands… even Wales… He was alone. For someone who had the entire world in his hands, it was a sad conclusion to come to._

_ Suddenly, England heard sounds coming from the forest. He jumped up and aimed his bow and arrow. After a bit, Wales came through the clearing, holding a spell book open and his eyes glowing bright. _

_ "You're very good at hiding," Wales said, closing the book and his eyes dimming, "It took me forever to find you."_

_ "What are you doing here?' England said, lowering his weapon but not yet putting it away._

_ "I came to check up on you."_

_ "I'm fine. I want to be left alone." England pouted and looked out at the lake. What good was it to have people if all they were ever going to do was hurt you in the end? Better to be isolated. Better to be alone._

_ "You've been like this for a year now," Wales sighed, "I thought that meeting France would have done you some good, but this… You can't be alone forever. It won't do you any good."_

_ "At least alone no one can hurt me."_

_ "…this is about Mum still, isn't it?"_

_ The feelings of frustration melted into sadness, making England drop his weapon. Memories poured into his head: the sad smile of Britannia as her body faded away, the angry face of America behind a loaded musket pointed at England's face, Australia running away without looking back, countless colonies coming with armies ready to drive England out, Canada with a sorry look on his face asking to be let go, Scotland shouting at him accusing him of setting up the ballot against him, and the last remaining members of the United Kingdom, once known as the Great British Empire, circling a table with Wales handing him a pen to sign for its dissolution._

_ "Why can't you just leave me alone!" England shouted in an attempt to make the pain go away. To make the memories disappear. But they wouldn't. They ran around and around his head, making him not be able to see clearly. The greens of the grass mixed with the greens of the tree leaves; the sky mixing with the water. England closed his eyes tightly in an attempt to stop himself from getting sick, though this only made the feeling worse. _

_ Wales knelt down and held England in a tight hug. Immediately, England relaxed, and the nauseous feeling went away. "Because," Wales said, but his voice was joined in by many others, "I can't watch my brother waste away into nothing."_

_ England tightened his hug in an attempt to not cry. Slowly, the spinning and the mixing of colors stopped. After a time, Wales pulled away. He noticed England's tears and handed him a handkerchief. "Here. Come with me. There's something I want to give you."_

_ England followed Wales out of the forest. Upon exiting it, the scene changed to something more modern. They were in a small room, with a giant window overlooking a bustling city. Cars were zooming by down below, and people walked with a brisk pace. Wales took out a small box from a drawer. "I found this abandoned when I was walking around Allistor's place… care to explain?" Wales' face was unreadable, but England was used to that._

_ "I didn't mean to leave it. You know that."_

_ "No, actually, I don't. Not with you. Not anymore." Wales tossed the box to England._

_ "Not that it would do me any good in my possession anyway. I lost the key. I can't open it."_

_ Wales gave England a look of incredulousness. "Arthur, you can use magic! Who needs a key when you can simply use a spell to unlock it?" Wales facepalmed his face, then started laughing hard which caught England off guard. "My God, I hope that whatever is in there isn't something you spent half a century looking for."_

_ England opened his mouth to object._

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_ "That's it!" England exclaimed, forcing himself out of his vivid daydream. He stood up so quick, Spain's chair fell to the ground._

_ "What is?" Spain asked, looking away from the window. The sky was steadily growing unnaturally dark. _

_ "The box. The one you saved from my ship. I remember how to open it." Without waiting for a reply, England ran over to his box and picked it up. There was no more tension against the box; he needed to know what was in it. And he was ready to accept whatever lay in there._

_ "Alohomora," England said. A green light shined from the lock and the box popped open. Inside was only an empty bottle with the label reading "Ambrosia"._

_ "That's what did it," Spain said, picking up the bottle and examining it._

_ "Did what?"_

_ "The explosion… it was this stuff that was in it. I think it was because it was overheated or mixed with something else and the reaction of it caused it to explode… and put me into this coma."_

_ "Maybe that's why we're in this same dream on this ship. Both of us were effected by ambrosia. Not much is known about the substance, so anything is possible."_

_ "And I just thought it was because we were bonded by our rivalry friendship," Spain said, in a sarcastic tone of voice._

_ England scowled, but he was interrupted before he could say anything else. Hurried knocks came to the door of Spain's room. It was Captain García, Spain's first mate, and Captain Henderson. They both saluted when the door was opened._

_ "Seniors," Captain García said, "There's another ship, and it is coming fast."_

_ "Another ship?" England asked, walking out onto the deck. Besides Spain's ship, there hadn't been anything else in the open waters. Even when they were close to shore, all the boats were docked and the town he visited was devoid of locals. _

_ "There's another thing," Captain Henderson said, handing England a spyglass, "The flag… it's American."_

_ England looked through the spyglass and sure enough, the flag whipping around in the wind was the stars and stripes of America's flag, the first one that nation ever waved. "This encounter isn't going to be pretty…" England said. He was imagining being captured by a small group of young rebels in common clothing. That happened a lot during America's revolution; America's states were a spunky crew._

_ "But remember, you are on my ship, with my flag," Spain reassured England, "They will only pass us. Go into my cabin. I'll get you when the coast is clear."_

_ "No, I'm not in my uniform. They shouldn't know I am British…" England felt the word in his mouth with the sting of bitter sadness. He was no longer Britain… he was just England now. He didn't know how he knew that, but it made him feel empty._

_ "As long as you don't speak," Spain clarified with a smirk._

_ The two of them watched the ship as it came closer and closer. England felt nervous, but stood his ground. He wasn't going to run. He wasn't going to show fear. He will face what he needed to face. The ship stopped right next to Spain's, and England could see who the occupants were. There were two individuals on deck: one was Italy in a cabin boy's attire, a red bandanna tied around his head. The other was Canada in a maroon pirate captain's cloak, complete with a matching, three tonged feathered hat. _

_ Spain froze as Italy boarded calmly, Canada right behind him. "What are you doing here, Veneziano?"_

_ Italy looked nervous. "As a warning. Romano is coming soon, and he's really pissed… more pissed than usual, like he actually wants to kill you pissed." He turned to England, "And you should probably hide."_

_ "Why?" England had no intention of doing so without a good reason. And even then, he wasn't in the mood to move._

_ "You are to be captured and taken to America's land to stand trial," Canada said, apologetically more than officially, "I don't agree with it, but America is keen on your capture."_

_ "How does he even know I'm on this ship?" England asked, confused._

_ "That would be my fault," Canada said slowly, "I tried not to tell him, but he has a sharp eye." If England had any lingering doubt that this was a dream, this statement solidified it. America was as dense as they come._

_ However, the Englishman was more interested as to how Canada got the knowledge of him being on board this ship, at least the dream explanation. "What did you do?"_

_ Canada's eyes glowed violet for a moment. "I saw you were here," Canada explained._

_ "You can use magic?" England asked, more impressed than anything._

_ "Canadia, get it over with already!" a voice yelled. England looked behind Canada to see America, all grown up and in a Patriot uniform, a rifle strapped around his shoulder. He looked angry, angrier than England had ever seen him… no, he had seen him this angry before. Several times, in fact, especially during the revolution._

_ Canada's hands were shaking. England held them, unsure of what else to do._

_ "If you aren't going to do it, get out of the way." Canada was shoved to the side. In America's hands were a pair of handcuffs. England drew out his sword. "Don't be difficult, England," America said harshly, his eyes on the sword, "You have crimes you have to atone."_

_ "Believe it or not, America, I have things I need to do. More important things than a pathetic quarrel about taxes." _

_ "I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about your disregard towards other people's feelings."_

_ "What?" England noticed a blackness that was soaking in the world around him. _

_ "You heard me. Did you actually believe that no one cared about what you do? That no one would notice if you were gone? Thing again. This is what you need to answer to." America made to put the handcuffs on, but England dodged the attempt. _

_ "I can't America." 'This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real,' England repeated in his head over and over again in an attempt to wake up. Why hadn't he gotten out of this dream yet. There have been so many places where he should have woken up, where the illusion of the dream broke for England. Why was he stuck there?_

_ "It's not a matter of can or can't. You are coming with me and that's final."_

_ "You still haven't told me what I've done!" England shouted, "Is ignorance a crime?"_

_ America's angry face fell to a sad one as he said, with several other voices along with him, "I thought you'd put the pieces together by now… I may not be a part of your great empire anymore, but I still admire you. Why would you throw everything you are away? Don't you know how hard it is to see your role model being torn apart?"_

_ The world around England by this point was entirely black. All he could see was America, whose uniform had changed into a bomber jacket. He sighed angrily. "Enough stalling, let's go."_

_ England swatted his sword around trying to knock the handcuffs out of America's hands as he ran backwards. _**Dude, where are you going?**_ "I keep telling you, there's something I have to do first," England said._

_ "No, there isn't. You have to pay for your crimes, here and now." America swung the handcuffs around menacingly._

_ England tripped. America came closer, still twirling the handcuffs. "Leave me alone!" Something was holding England in his helpless position; he couldn't even use his sword. _

**Chill. I'm just taking you back to bed.**

_ America handcuffed England and held onto his wrists. "Let go of me!" England shouted, trying to pull his hands away, "You can't do this to me!"_

_ America's eyes glowed blue._** England. It's me. America.**

England blinked, and he found himself in a small, plain hallway that had a cot to one side. England was kneeling on the ground, the same position he was in the dream. America was in a sweatshirt marked with a flag made of stars and stripes. America's own flag. He was holding England by his wrists and wore a concerned expression. He too was kneeling on the ground. "Don't you recognize me?" America asked worriedly.

England was still struggling, but it was more out of the fact that his mind was still in escape mode. After a bit, he calmed down. America scooped him up easily and moved him to the next room, which was a proper bedroom. America put England down on the bed.

"Ok, now, England?"

England didn't do anything to suggest he heard. He was in shock; the fog had lessened and England knew for certain that this was reality. Certain memories of the events of the American Revolution came back to conscious thought, and it made England feel as if he was on a roller coaster of emotions. America protesting at England's demands. Battles, both on land and on sea. Being captured by a rebel group of Americans, made up the of personified colonies now flying under America's flag instead of his own. America being captured by his men, and seeing the aftermath of that interrogation. Continuous negotiations leading nowhere. The written declaration of America's cut ties with Britain. England still had no idea why he was at the house, nor why America of all people was there either. After all, they were at war with each other, though America's attire suggested otherwise.

"Hey." America snapped his fingers in front of England's face. England immediately looked up. He could tell that America was just holding it together. Probably anger… they were at war…

'But then, why would he be helping me?' England thought as he said, "Tired, I guess."

"Get some sleep then," America said, making to leave.

"America…" England said, and he couldn't believe himself for even thinking this, let alone asking it outright, "Will you stay? Here? In the room?"

"Really?" America looked confused.

England nodded. If they were at war, he would rather keep an eye on the American first hand. If not… England really didn't want to be alone.

America slowly sat down on the end of the bed. "Whatever dude. So long as you don't want to kill me."

"We're at war… that's to be expected."

America's face was blank. "Um… we haven't fought in a war against each other for ages…"

They sat there silence for a while. The rain outside was light, and rather soothing. England was trying to get himself to believe that what America was saying was true. His heart believed it. His mind however was not as easily convinced.

"So…" America asked awkwardly, "Do you want me to sing to you?"

England gave him a look. A memory popped up in his mind; some karaoke thing with America doing whale calls in a microphone that somehow translated into singing, so said the American. "You can't sing." England remembered it annoyed him, because he had taught America to sing better than that.

"I can at least try," America said, rolling his eyes.

"Fine." He just needed to get through the night. He didn't want to go to sleep again. He wanted to stay awake and keep his memories. And since America was bad at singing now, England couldn't imagine falling asleep to it.

"Oh Shenandoah,

I long to see you,

Away you rolling river.

Oh Shenandoah,

I long to see you

Away, I'm bound away,

Across the wide Missouri"

"So you can sing if you actually try," England muttered. America's voice was smooth and calming like the rain outside. England didn't mind admitting to being wrong for once. He was secretly glad that something he taught the young nation actually stuck.

"Tis seven years,

Since last I've seen you

Away, you rolling river.

'Tis seven years,

Since last I've seen you

Away, we're bound away,

Across the wide Missouri

Farewell, my dear,

I'm bound to leave you

Away, you rolling river

O Shenandoah,

I'll not deceive you

Away, I'm bound away

'Cross the wide Missouri

America continued singing, but his voice slowly faded in England's mind as he fell unwillingly back to sleep.

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_England made his way through central park in New York, heavily dependent on the walking stick he picked up. Everyone around him was excited about the day's events and the fireworks that were going to be going on. It was certainly dark enough for them. _

_ In one corner of the park, 13 individuals sat around, occasionally looking up at the sky and enjoying each other's company. The original American colonies, the ones who fought in the War of American Independence. One of them noticed England, made his way over, and let everyone else know._

_ "Dude!" New York exclaimed when England got close enough. He looked just like America, with the exception of his brown eyes and lack of glasses, "You look like a zombie. Are ya sick?"_

_ "Don't you remember what he was like for the centennial?" Massachusetts asked, rolling her eyes as England drew closer, "He was even worse then. At least there's no blood this time."_

_ They cleared a space for England to sit down. Rhode Island shoved a glass of beer in England's hands. _

_ Politely, the Englishman put it down on the table. "There was earlier," he muttered. _

_ "Why are you out then?" South Carolina asked, putting her shawl over England in a comforting gesture, "Blood can't be a good sign for anything."_

_ "And yet you all remain independent," England pointed out bitterly._

_ Everyone at the table made a collective sigh. "I thought we were past this," New Hampshire said, "How many times do we have to kick and save your ass?"_

_ England looked at each state. They all looked older, not too much in age since the War of Independence, but in character. Sure, the rebellious spirit was still a part of them in some way, but it had matured. England couldn't place a reason why._

_ "If it makes ya feel any better," New York said, putting a hand on England's shoulder, "None of this would have been here without you."_

_ "What do you mean?"_

_ "He has a point," Virginia said, "You raised America, and inspired him to be the best he could. You beat the shit out of all of us, and we in turn did the same to you because we didn't like it. Without you, this place would look a whole lot different."_

_ "And that is supposed to make me feel better because?" England asked._

_ "Because you're still important," Georgia said, "Sure, no one is celebrating you here, but shouldn't you still feel proud for America's accomplishment for making it this far? He learned everything from you."_

_ England looked out at central park. He found America talking with a few nations who had come to celebrate his birthday. America looked… good, for lack of a better word. He was strong and confident. Someone that people could look up to… if he wasn't still such a child. _

_ The crowd around cheered and the fireworks show began in the sky up above. It was beautiful, the way the lights shown like stars of their own. It was the only way, in England's opinion, America could ever celebrate his birthday: as flashy and showy as humanly possible._

_ "Besides," Pennsylvania said, leaning towards England, "You still have you family on the other side of the ocean. You aren't alone."_

_ "Not anymore," England said, and once again, reality hit him like a sack of bricks…_

_ "What, they died?" Massachusetts asked, very confused._

_ "Well, no, but…"_

_ "Then you still have them, regardless of if they're living with you or not. Even though America left you, he still checks up on you constantly. And he keeps coming in and saving the day in the wars you get yourself almost killed over. America may have moved out, but he never left you for long."_

_ That thought alone kept England from spiraling further into his own mind._

* * *

**Author's Note**: I finally actually get to talk about some of the states. Not in this story, but in some future ones, we get to hear more from a few of them (especially Massachusetts, because that's my state). But here are a few musings for now: New York is a theater nerd and likes directing plays. Georgia's human name is the same as her state name. Virginia is the state that works the most with America due to the fact that the nation's capital is in his state. And Massachusetts will fight anyone about sports (she's very passionate about her local teams).  
As another note: the voice layering is apart of Northern Ireland's healing thing. But, since this is in England's perspective, he has no clue. Plus, it didn't work quite the way Northern Ireland wanted it to, as we are to see very soon.


	18. Chapter 18

It continued to rain the next day, with the exception that it started thundering too. The perfect combination for going out into the forest to save a muck-filled lake. "You know, America," Ireland said, "Just putting it out there, you're crazy."

"Yeah, Al," Canada said, "We could do this on a day when it isn't pouring buckets."

"We're almost there though," America said. He was determined to fix the damage that he had been done. Not that he was going to do magic. No, because if he was the cause of what happened, he really didn't want to awaken that evil.

"Besides," Northern Ireland said, "We are protected by the charms." He smiled at Ireland.

"Charms don't ward off lighting," Ireland stated blandly.

They got to the lake, which was just as miserable and bleak as ever. Northern Ireland walked around the boarder of the place. "We're going to have to use some sort of dispel," was the conclusion he came to once he joined with the others again, "Healing isn't going to cut it since it hasn't started doing that naturally. America, are you sure you don't remember what you were trying to do?"

"I keep telling you, dude," America said, trying not to snap down Northern Ireland's neck, "I have no memory of this place."

Canada looked at the lake, then walked back a few paces. "America took one of England's books," the Canadian said, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed, trying to remember, "I told him it was a dumb idea, but he never listened to me back then." Canada took a step forward, and pretended to open a book in front of him. "He started reciting something…" Canada opened his eyes and looked at America, "You couldn't pronounce anything correctly."

"So?" America asked, wondering what the point of the statement was.

"And you gave up halfway." Canada glared at his brother.

"Oh," the Irish twins said in unison, everything making sense to them.

"So?" America asked again. Wasn't it better to stop a spell that was being done incorrectly?

"Magic is the last thing you want to do halfway," Ireland explained, "If you start something, you have to see it through to the end." He turned to Canada, "What did the book look like?"

"Um… It was black…" Canada slowly shrugged when he couldn't give any more details.

"Good thing he only has one big black spell book," Ireland said, then suddenly summoned the book in question, "And let's just all hope he doesn't want this thing any time soon."

Canada, America, and Northern Ireland crowded around Ireland's shoulders under the umbrella and looked at the spell contained. It all looked like gibberish to America. The words looked familiar, but not at the same time. "How can he read this?" America asked, looking incredulously at the Irelands.

"It's Old English," Northern Ireland explained, "He's had this book for a while. Do you think he remembers any Old English?"

"I doubt it," Ireland remarked. His eyes glowed for a few moments. "There were a few times where he had to rewrite some of his spells because he had forgotten his old language." He suddenly smirked as the light faded from his eyes, "I forgot that it's fun insulting him using Old English since he can't remember what it means."

"There," Canada said, pointing to a spell, "That's it."

"A spell for warding off pestilence," Ireland said, looking through it, "It would make sense the spell casted halfway would cause this."

Canada suddenly fell to his knees, his mouth covered and tears welling up in his eyes. His shoulders shuttered uncontrollably.

"Matthew?" America asked, rushing to his brother's side, "Are you ok?"

The two western nations looked at each other. America could see pain in Canada's eyes. "You have to finish the spell," Canada said quietly.

"But…"

"You started it, Al. You have to finish it."

America really, really, _really_ didn't want to. The concept of even having magic in the first place freaked him out. He was not just scared, he was terrified. "Only because you asked, Matt," America found himself saying, with a strength he didn't feel like he had.

Canada pointed to the part where America had originally stopped reading. Looking over the words, America had no idea how he was even going to read this.

"If it makes you feel any better," Northern Ireland said, seeing America's lost expression, "Intent is always the driving factor of any spell. It doesn't matter what is said or not said, so long as you have the intent in your mind. Words are used to better focus the intent."

America breathed and, to the best of his pathetic linguistic abilities, read the rest of the spell. He could feel something swell within him. It felt ancient and powerful. As much as he tried to control it, it came out all the same. The lake started clearing, blossoms bloomed on the trees around, and bright green grass grew.

"Not too shabby for your first go at magic," Ireland said, looking very impressed.

"What are you talking about?" Northern Ireland expressed, giving America a hug, "That was incredible! Even more impressive than Wales' first spell."

"Wales' first spell?" Canada asked.

"When we were all young," Ireland explained, banishing the spell book back where it belonged, "Wales' had trouble with controlling his magic. He had it, and it was powerful, but he didn't have any luck bringing it out. He did some challenge in order to train more on magic. And it worked. The first thing he made with his magic was Excalibur."

"The legendary sword?" America asked, an eyebrow raised.

"The same," Northern Ireland said, "It was so beautiful. And it was very powerful."

"_The_ legendary sword?" America was still not believing it.

"Yes…" Ireland stared at America, then proceeded to slap him in the back of the head, "All the Arthurian stories happened. In Wales. He doesn't like talking about it though. You know how it ends, right? I don't have to go into that whole mess?"

America had a weird thought. "…so does that make England the once and future king? Since his human name is Arthur?"

The Irish twins looked at each other. Apparently, neither one of them thought about it before. "That would be a fun day trip," Northern Ireland said.

"No, we are not doing that," Ireland crushed that idea completely, "Besides, no one knows where that sword is anymore." Thunder crashed nearby and everyone suddenly remembered that it was raining. "I'm going back, now that our business here is done. Before I get struck by lightning." Ireland started walking back, Northern Ireland right behind him.

America and Canada looked at the lake. Even in the rain, its beauty was plainly visible. "You did good," Canada said.

"Yeah… I'm never doing that again." But even as he said that, America had a bad feeling that maybe he wouldn't keep that unofficial promise. Blue sparks danced around his hands.

88888

Australia and Scotland were stuck in the kitchen doing business. Not with each other, but with their respective governments. Australia had been putting off getting paper work turned in (humans loved paperwork, something Australia had yet to understand) and Scotland just got an email that morning concerning a few things he had to fix.

"Of all the things to keep from England's system, why did it have to be the paperwork," Scotland groaned as he read through the form for the third time, not understanding what he filled out wrong.

"It's probably easier," Australia said, "Better than making a whole new system."

"Easier for who?"

"Not for us, that I can tell you," Australia said, winking.

"We're back," Northern Ireland said, poking his head into the kitchen. "You look like you're going to kill someone, Scotty."

"I would, if it were a different time."

The door bell suddenly rang. It felt like it echoed through the house. "Who would be here in this rain?" Northern Ireland asked.

Scotland got up and went over to the front door. "How about you get yourself a towel and dry yourself off first," Scotland said before he left the kitchen.

"You do look like you've been swimming," Australia said, shrugging, "How did it go with the lake?"

"America brought it back to its former glory. We should go up there when its stopped raining. It's much more pleasant now."

"America actually did magic?" Australia sounded amazed.

Northern Ireland nodded, "And it was amazing. I always figured that America would have powerful magic, but I was still blown away."

"You sound enamored."

Northern Ireland grinned. "So what's all this?"

"Short answer: procrastination."

"Is this stuff because of your new boss?" Northern Ireland looked over Australia's shoulder.

"That and some stuff that people want built. Not that I get much of a say in any of it, but they want me to fill out paper work all the same. What's the point when you don't really care?"

"I wouldn't know. There isn't much room to build new things at my place."

Scotland popped back in, and he wasn't alone. Along with him was a young adult, about as drenched as Northern Ireland was.

"Oi, another one who likes swimming," Australia said.

Scotland gave him a look, then looked back at Northern Ireland. "Spéir, can you please get yourself a towel? And can you get one for our guest as well?"

"You got it, Scotty." Northern Ireland left the kitchen through the other door.

"This is Victoria," Scotland explained to Australia, "She got lost out in the rain."

"That's impressive," Australia told the young adult, "I thought I was the only helpless one with directions. I'm Kyle."

"So I have a question," Victoria said, once she got her coat off and sat down in a chair, "You're name is Allistor, but your nickname is Scotty?"

Australia burst out in to laughter. Scotland shot him a dangerous look, which didn't shut him up in the slightest. "I'm from Scotland, that's why the nickname." Australia fell off his chair, still laughing. "For Croist's sake, it's not that funny."

"Is everything ok in here?" Northern Ireland asked, coming in with a towel for Victoria. His own towel was on his head.

"I'm fine, North. I'm fine…" Australia said, trying to keep himself from laughing while talking.

"You say that, and I don't believe it." Northern Ireland looked over at Scotland.

Scotland rolled his eyes, and walked over to Northern Ireland. "Can you go find England?" Scotland said in a hushed voice, "So that he doesn't get himself into any trouble. The last thing we need is our guest running into him in this state."

"He should be fine now, though," Northern Ireland said, "I healed him."

"Have you seen him yet today?"

"No, but…"

"Not now, North. Please?"

Northern Ireland gave Scotland a look, and went out of the kitchen again.

"So, how did you get lost anyway?" Australia asked Victoria. Scotland started to gather the paperwork scattered on the table and closed his laptop. It seemed as though nothing more was going to get done that day.

"I'm from London," Victoria explained, "My class is taking a weekend trip up here in York and today, we are just exploring on our own. I thought I heard there was a good tavern hidden away through a forest path, but then I got lost and turned around. I ended up finding this place."

"But in the rain?" Scotland asked, an eyebrow raised.

"I heard about it from a friend and I wanted to try it out as soon as I could so that I could tell him about it."

"Ooh, and who's your friend?" Australia asked interested.

Victoria did not appreciate the tone in his voice, "His name is Arthur, and we are just friends. We talk history together."

"Oh." Australia was no longer interested.

"When the rain lets up a little," Scotland said, "I can take you back to wherever village you're staying at."

"It is hard to see in all this rain…" Victoria agreed.

88888

Northern Ireland ran throughout the house, trying to find England. He would have thought that nation would be easier to find, but Northern Ireland circled the house twice and could find no sign of the Englishman. He was starting to panic a bit.

"North, we saw you pass here two times already," Canada said, stopping Northern Ireland. He and America were drying off in the sitting room. America had taken off his shirt, and a towel was over his head. Canada had changed into a different sweatshirt. "What's going on?"

"I need to find England," Northern Ireland said, "We have a guest in the house and we don't really know what state his head is in."

"But, like, you healed him," America said, confused, "Shouldn't he be fine now?"

"He was still sleeping when we left this morning," Northern Ireland said, "And none of us have seen him since we got back…"

"Isn't Wales with him right now?" Canada asked.

"Yeah, that's right!" Northern Ireland said brightly, then deflated almost immediately, "He was alone though…"

"Let's go then," America said. He stood up and started leaving the room.

"Hey!" Canada exclaimed and threw America a fresh shirt.

The three of them headed to England's study. Along the way, luckily enough, they finally found England. "…he is dying," England was saying, "How can you have forgotten that?"

"There you are!" America said, running up to England, "You gave us all a scare, old man…" America noticed the person England was talking to. She looked very confused. "Hey there."

"Um…"

Northern Ireland grabbed England's hand, "Come on, Arthur. There's something I need to talk to you about. You two take Victoria to the kitchen. This place is really big and easy to get lost in."

A heavy silence prevailed when Northern Ireland and England left. Victoria looked between America and Canada. "Let's go to the kitchen, eh?" Canada said.

"So, who are you two?" Victoria asked as they headed off in that direction.

"I'm Alfred, and this is my brother, Matthew," America explained.

"And how do you two know Arthur?"

"Um…" America said, at a slight loss for words. It was hard to really pinpoint what England was to America.

"He's our brother," Canada stepped in.

Victoria raised an eyebrow, and looked at America, "You call your brother an old man?"

"I mean… he is," America pouted.

"How old are you?"

"19?" America had to think about that one. Was he still 19? He had been 19 for a while.

They got to the kitchen, where Scotland and Australia were still hanging out, but Wales was now there too. "Say do you two know where…" Wales started to say, then he saw Victoria and stopped.

"So, I have a few questions," Victoria spoke up as she walked in the room, "The first being how all of you know Arthur Kirkland? I know these two are brothers of his. What about the rest of you?"

"Scotty and I are also brothers of his," Wales said, motioning for Victoria to sit. "I'm not sure what _you_ think of him, though…" Wales trailed off, looking at Australia.

Australia shrugged. "I really don't know if there is a way to explain our relationship in normal terms."

"Why do you ask?" Wales asked, not wanting to get much of a discussion of verbiage, "Did you run into Arthur?"

Victoria nodded, "What is going on with him? When I ran into him just now, he thought I was Queen Victoria and started talking about things I had no idea about. It was a good thing I got bailed out, but… Is there something I should know about him?"

"He's delusional…" Scotland started to say.

Wales put up a hand. "Wait," he said.

Everyone looked at Wales in surprise. "What?" Scotland said.

Wales took a breath to think. "How well do you know Arthur? How do you even know him?"

"We're friends," Victoria said, "I don't know much about him personally, and I honestly didn't think he had this much family… We spend a lot of time talking and discussing history. I study it in university and he has helped me get a better understanding of it."

"And what do you know about him?"

"Only that he's some sort of ambassador and that you all are assholes."

That made America and Australia laugh hard and Canada smirk a little. "Mhm, yes, _we_ are the assholes," Scotland commented.

"I'm sure that you have a side to it as well," Victoria said, looking confused by the outburst, "But I digress." Victoria looked to Wales for an explanation.

"Can you keep a secret?" Wales asked.

Victoria nodded.

"Dylan," Scotland said in warning.

Wales put up his hand again. "I know what I'm doing," he told Scotland. He faced Victoria and began the explanation, "Arthur isn't delusional… or at least not in the normal sense. He's stuck in his memories right now and doesn't know where he is in time right now."

"His memories? But Queen Victoria died long before any of us were born."

"In your case, that would be true. But not for ours. You see, we all are nations personified." Wales proceeded to explain to Victoria the nation situation, something he had done many times before. But this time, it was easier because he didn't have to be so professional about it. Victoria was a very good listener and asked questions for clarification, mainly when the colonial peanut gallery interjected with a snarky comment.

Once Wales was finished, Victoria remarked, "No wonder he knew so much of obscure history. The Great British Empire… in the flesh…" Victoria turned to America, Australia, and Canada, "So I guess that makes Arthur like your ex-boss then?"

"He is still our bro," America said, "Like, that was how it started out. He found me and took me in."

"I was taken after a war with France," Canada said, "He's more like a dad to me than a brother."

"And he's just kinda England to me," Australia said, "Like he took care of me, sure, but he didn't know what to make of me."

"You were all over the place," Wales stated.

"Why tell me all this?" Victoria asked, "I can tell this is a sort of well-kept secret."

Wales remembered a time in which most people knew about the nations, back when pagan traditions were still the norm in his land. He did have human friends then too, people who he would discuss magic with. But, slowly, as public attitudes started shifting to more scientific thought, people started believing the nation story less and less, and eventually, all nations agreed it was best to just let their bosses, and a handful of other important people, be aware of nation statuses. Wales did miss the days of being able to openly talk to humans. "I feel like I can trust you. And from the sound of it, Arthur trusts you enough to keep as a friend," Wales explained, "I hope you don't prove me wrong."

"I'll won't," Victoria said, "Now, you said that Arthur is stuck in a memory? What happened? Surely, that can't be a normal thing, even for you lot?"

"No, it's not," Scotland agreed, gritting his teeth, "Maybe if he just woke up, but this is beyond that."

"He overdosed on something and that's what got his memories all jumbled up…" Wales thought back to the ambrosia. "Tell me," he said slowly, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he could get a clue as to how things escalated, "Did you notice anything odd, or a change in his behavior while you two were friends?"

"Not really… though… wait, there was." Victoria thought for a moment, "This would be after the dissolution, but he looked awful. He told me it was because he wasn't sleeping well. It would make sense now why. I suggested sleeping pills, but he told me that those wouldn't work. Is that true?"

Wales nodded solemnly, "Drugs tend to have different effects on us nations for some reason. I think the only one that works as intended is Advil."

"And alcohol," Canada piped up.

"He did get better," Victoria continued, "Or at least I thought he did. He looked better and seemed to be his usual self. And then he just disappeared. He never told me anything about it. Which hurt, but I figured something must have come up with his job. I know better now."

Everything finally made sense to Wales. He would love to hear it from the horse's mouth, but when the horse was back to his sane self. "Thank you for telling us," Wales said.

"I'm just glad he's in good hands. As I said before, whenever he talked about you two at least, he always said that you were assholes."

"Aye, I bet he would," Scotland said, rolling his eyes.

"I mean, he is right with calling you one," Wales said, a slight smirk on his face, "With all the pranks you've pulled on him over the years."

"I'm almost afraid to ask what a prank between nations entails," Victoria said.

"Depends if you are using magic or not," Scotland replied, a smirk coming to his face.

88888

The rain started lifting around mid-afternoon. Scotland went out to go see the road conditions before he'd take Victoria back to the nearby village. It was just Victoria and Wales in the kitchen, discussing history, something that Wales never thought would be so therapeutic. It was little wonder why England became friends with her. Before Victoria left, she and Wales exchanged numbers, and Wales promised to updated her on England's condition.

Northern Ireland came into the room some time afterwards, looking discouraged.

"What's wrong, North?" Wales asked upon seeing him.

"I think…" Northern Ireland said slowly, "I think England… broke himself." When Wales raised an eyebrow, Northern Ireland continued, "He… had this guilty look on his face and asked how I felt about me and Ire… He first asked about my Gaelic and it just went from there. He's never asked before… and while it was nice for him to care, a part of me feels like it's a bit late for that…"

"I didn't realize you resented England."

"Not as much as Ire and Scotty, and I wouldn't call it resentment either. Just… I have always felt torn that we couldn't get along." Northern Ireland put his head in his hands, "If he tries this with Ire right now, it won't end well."

"Maybe…" Wales shrugged, "But, the two of them are going to have to reconcile at some point. Speaking of England, where is he?"

"He's with Canada, Australia, and America."

"That's good. Canada has dealt with England vulnerable before."

A long silence prevailed after that. Northern Ireland sat there, his head still in his hands, thinking things over to himself. Wales let him, continuing on his newspaper readings. "I don't think what I did made anything better," Northern Ireland said, breaking the silence.

"It made a difference."

"But it didn't make things better…"

"We'll… figure it out. I don't know how, but we will. But, and please hear this, but England has to reconcile himself. And I think that is deeply intertwined with why he overdosed in the first place."

"And what makes you say that?"

"It's something that his friend, Victoria, said. He was looking for sleeping pills. As much as England does love to drink himself into a stooper when stuff like this happens, this seems a little different."

"We won't know until he can get into his right mind again."

"Indeed…"

* * *

**Author's Note**: This won't be the last we hear about Excalibur. I guarantee that much. (insert evil writer's smile here) Also, it was Australia's first time hearing Scotland's human name; that's what he was laughing about, how ridiculous the name was. It sounds more proper than the nation himself is.

That is it for this week's update. Next week, we will hear England's side of the story with Victoria. Until then.


	19. Chapter 19

_England and America looked at each other intently. America had fire in his eyes, as did all the men that were with him. Each of them were carrying a rifle or gun of some nature. If they were all in matching uniform, England would have mistaken them for some small army; this group of dissenters were in various clothes, all of which suggested the common man._

_ "What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?" England asked, coming up to America._

_ America had a hard look, almost like a mask hiding something, but England could not tell what. "You are going no further," the young nation said in a voice of authority England had never heard from him before. It was commanding, like a general's tone._

_ "America, throw down your arms," England said, rolling his eyes. Surely, America was not serious in this little protest? "As you can clearly see, my troops outnumber yours. I could take you out in less than a minute. Throw down your arms now, and I will see that the punishment for your men is light."_

_ "Yeah, right." America spit at England's feet, which riled up England's soldiers._

_ England put up a hand and they all settled down for the time being. "Put down your weapons, you little…"_

_ "Or what, exactly?" America said, "What exactly are you going to do to me?"_

_ England could feel himself being torn apart. "Don't force my hand," he said, angrier than he actually felt, "You have been causing me trouble for a long time. I will not hesitate to put this little rebellion down." In reply, the front line of England's troops aimed their rifles at America's rebel soldiers. England got back up on his horse. "Now for the last time, put down your arms!" England did not want to use force on America. He truly didn't, not to his little brother. England had the power to completely crush the little colony; he prayed it wouldn't have to come to that._

_ America sighed angrily and slowly started to put down his weapon; England figured America knew the same fact about his strength. England could hear some unrest in the group of rebels, but that was to be expected. If any of them were to run, they would be shot without hesitation. No one was going to escape._

_ At that moment, a shot fired. England turned to find the source of the sound as he heard his own men fire in response. He saw a young boy with determined navy blue eyes holding a musket. England was frozen in shock for a moment, before realizing that this wasn't some random boy. That was Massachusetts, disguised as an innocent young boy. She did that way too well, in England's opinion. England and Massachusetts locked eyes for a moment. She nodded and disappeared into the house she was standing in front of. _

_ "I hope you know what you have started, you devil," America said, and for a moment, England could have sworn there was a red tint in America's eyes._

England shook his head, his eyes starting to swell with tears. The fog in his head had cleared considerably, but it still lingered. The daydreams were still very vivid, and it confused him even more about what was truly going on.

"Your silence is deafening," Wales said. He was in another part of the room, looking through some of England's old books.

England blinked… "Was I saying something?" He couldn't remember.

Wales sighed, "It's not important."

"But I was… wasn't I?" England looked down at a notebook he grabbed to keep track of what was going on. He had made no note about being in a conversation with Wales… just stuff about the previous night, with America being an ally instead of an enemy.

"Please, don't stress yourself," Wales said calmly, walking over to England and placing a hand on his hands, "I said it wasn't important." All the same, Wales' eyes looked hurt.

England stood up, "I'm going to walk around. Maybe I can clear my head."

"That sounds like a good idea. Let me…"

"Alone, Wales." England sounded harsher than he had intended.

"Alright, then." Wales sat down in a chair. "Just… come back when you're done, ok?"

England started roaming the halls. He once did this in a proud way, in command of a grand nation. But now, seeing the things hung in the hallway… he felt sad. Shadows of things that once were, and he had a bad feeling they no longer were anymore. He had no idea what happened.

England pulled out a letter that he found in the study. It was addressed to him from an unknown sender, with a wax seal of a unicorn. He eventually stopped and opened the letter. He had to know. His curiosity was too great.

He immediately regretted it. White smoke sprung from the letter and _he couldn't breathe. England fell to the ground, flopping about. His eyes watered. Surely, he couldn't die. He was a nation… his mother was a nation though, and she died._

_Minutes and hours passed. England didn't know how long he lay there before he was found by one of the last people he wanted to look weak for. Queen Victoria._

_She looked panicked as she got people to come help him up. She had just lost her husband. She couldn't lose her nation too._

England blinked. He was in the hallway alone, breathing fine. The letter was close by on the ground. His hand was twitching furiously. Slowly and carefully, England slipped the letter out of the envelope and read the contents. There wasn't much there, just a doodle of Scotland grinning saying "I got you."

Anger rose within England. He could have been killed by a prank. From Scotland of all people. But of course, it would be Scotland. That nation had wanted England out of power for years. Well, England was certainly going to give Scotland a piece of his mind. This was beyond childish; this was irresponsible. He made the queen panic. He hadn't seen Queen Victoria with that kind of look since… since…

_England knocked on the door and waited for a reply. A personal, business visit. The kingdom was to switch hands to a new monarch, and England had heard some rumors about this one. 'She's weak, not fit to lead,' they said. Well, England was going to find out for himself. _

_ The door opened and a 17-year-old girl stood in the doorway. Alexandrina Victoria. "Good day, sir," she said politely, "I heard you wanted to see me." England noted that she had a German accent._

_ "Yes, may I come in?"_

_ Victoria nodded. Once in the room, England asked, "I hope I am not interrupting anything."_

_ "No, sir. Though I do wonder why the most mysterious member of the court is here to visit me. Most men visit my mother, or Sir Conroy."_

_ "You are to be the future queen. I figured I would introduce myself and see what kind of person you are."_

_ "You are the only person who has made that effort." Victoria stated._

_ "I'm not surprised." England was well aware of what the Duchess of Kent and Sir Conroy were planning, and he was not at all happy with it._

_ "What have you heard of me?" Victoria asked, and England could see her true feelings for a moment. She looked terrified. She knew what was to come in the near future. _

_ "That you are weak, and unfit for the throne. That it would be better for someone else to take that place until you are ready." England stopped and looked at Victoria. "However, those are rumors, and I have been with the court long enough to know that people will talk about anything and everything. I want to hear it from you. Are you prepared to take the throne?"_

_ "I won't know until that time comes, but I won't shy away from it." Victoria now had a determined look in her eyes._

_ "That's very mature of you."_

_ "I have to be in order for people to take me seriously."_

_ England nodded, he understood how that went all too well. "I look forward to see what kind of ruler you will be, Princess Victoria." England bowed._

_ "Tell me," Victoria said, "What is your name and what is your role in court? No one gives me a straight answer."_

_ **Arthur?**_

England blinked and he was back in his home. In front of him stood Victoria… but it seemed unbelievable to England. She was just a few millimeters shorter than England. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She had a pale face that reflected the light. Her eyes were a hazel color. They looked confused.

"Victoria?" England asked slowly. Her clothes were nothing that the Victoria he knew would ever wear. Denim trousers. A t-shirt. She wouldn't be caught dead with anything like that. Not for a lady of that time.

"Fancy running into you here," Victoria said, half amused, "What are you doing here?"

"I live here…" England raised an eyebrow, "I did not realize that you would come up visiting this region when your uncle is close to dying."

Victoria's face fell to confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"You do understand that he will die soon, don't you?" England felt the fog cloud his mind again. He fought against it. He would not be taken in again. He shook his head. Something was wrong. Why wasn't Victoria in a dress?

"Arthur… what on Earth are you talking about?"

"Your uncle… William IV… he is dying. How can you have forgotten that?"

Something seemed to click for Victoria, but before she could say anything, a very loud someone interrupted her. "There you are!" America said, coming up behind England. "You gave us all a scare, old man…"

Victoria looked at America with a lot of confusion. America's presence had that effect on a lot of people.

"Hey there," America said awkwardly.

"Um…" Victoria looked between England and America, a question forming somewhere.

North grabbed England's hand, "Come on, Arthur. There's something I need to talk to you about. You two take Victoria to the kitchen. This place is really big and easy to get lost in."

Before England could protest, he was dragged away. North took him to the sitting room, and closed the door with a sigh of relief.

"What was that all about?" England protested, "I was doing fine!"

"I'm sure you were."

England was getting a bit fed up with having to be watched all the time by everyone. Why were they keeping such close tabs on him? "Can you at least tell me why Victoria is here? It doesn't make sense."

"Wait… you know her?"

"Of course I do! She's to be the new queen very soon. I would hope that I know at least what she looks like."

North bit his lip. "England… Queen Victoria died some time ago. The girl you saw… she's just a human who shares her first name."

England closed his eyes. The words cut deep. Memories of Queen Victoria's life ran through England's head. He felt unstable, and he wished there was something to stable him again.

He felt North guide him to a seat. North wrapped an arm over England's shoulder. He started humming quietly. Usually, a song would calm England, but he knew the song… This was an Irish song… A pang of guilt hit England.

"North?" England asked slowly, "How much did you lose of your Gaelic tongue?"

North stopped humming. His eyes looked conflicted. England remembered that he had banned him and Ireland from speaking in Gaelic, and that he was harsher to North about it than to Ireland. "Enough… but… I'm regaining it a little. I don't think I'll ever be as good at it as I once was, but I won't lose the language for good."

'How much damage have I done?' England thought guiltily. He drove out so many people not only from their homes, but their ways of life. And for what? World conquest? Was it worth it?

North started singing again. It was something that North did during times of distress. England knew why too, for North told him once. Music brings back times of peace and comfort, things to remember when life got tough.

"Buachaill ón Éirne mé 's bhréagfainn féin cailín deas óg.  
Ní iarrfainn bó spré léithe tá mé féin saibhir go leor.  
'S liom Corcaigh 'a mhéid é, dhá thaobh a' ghleanna 's Tír Eoghain.  
'S mura n-athraí mé béasaí 's mé n' t-oidhr' ar Chontae Mhaigh Eo."

England let himself sink into North's shoulder as his mind unwillingly swept him into another memory.

_England and Wales had been wandering around the house looking for Northern Ireland. No doubt the newly appointed nation needed some company. Ireland had just pulled out of the Union, and North chose to stay with it, forming the new nation of Northern Ireland._

_ "Why would you side with him?!" Ireland's voice shouted from behind a door._

_ Both England and Wales stopped in their tracks as they heard the reply from Northern Ireland, "I am not siding with anyone! This is just my choice. I have nothing against you."_

_ "But… he… don't you understand what he has done to us?"_

_ "What he has done to you. I have no quarrel with him."_

_ "That's because he has brain-washed you. Can't you see?"_

_ Wales turned to England. 'Well?' Wales mouthed. His face was, as usual, unreadable. Though recently, even Wales' poker face sometimes gave sudden flickers of the emotions lying underneath, no doubt the feelings of his people. _

_ England sighed and opened the door. Indeed, the Irish twins were in the room. Ireland looked as though he could kill someone, mostly England. Northern Ireland was mad as well, so much so he was on the verge of tears. They both looked at England and Wales as they entered the room. Northern Ireland ran into Wales' arms, which accepted him immediately. Ireland locked eyes with England._

_ "I think you should go," England said, "If you are going to terrorize my household."_

_ Ireland did not say a word, but left the room all the same, bumping England in the shoulder as he passed by. England would have loved to fight Ireland at that moment, but he kept his instincts in check. There was no good fighting in that room at the moment. Not with Northern Ireland looking like he could cry at any given moment._

_ "Come, let's go to your room, ok?" Wales suggested kindly to Northern Ireland. They left the room, leaving England alone with his thoughts._

* * *

**Author's Note**: Two steps forward, one step back. Jumbled memories of the past that haunt him (except for that one where he first met Queen Victoria). Now, we could sit here all day talking about what would haunt England, but... (looks at next chapter)


	20. Chapter 20

Ireland couldn't sleep. It wasn't from lack of trying. There was just something off, an aura about the house that he couldn't shake off. He eventually couldn't take it anymore and got up to go walk around.

"Ire," Northern Ireland asked, his eyes half open, "Somethin' wrong?"

"No, nothing," Ireland responded, "Go back to sleep."

Northern Ireland closed his eyes. Ireland waited a few moments to make sure his brother was asleep again before leaving the room. All was still and dark out in the hall.

Ireland summoned an orb of green light and walked around the house. The rain had finally stopped, but the wind picked up. It rattled the trees and knocked them against the windows. He eventually saw that the door to England's library was open and light was coming out from there. Peering inside, Ireland found Wales asleep at the table there, his head resting on his arms. He looked exhausted, which made Ireland question how much sleep his brother was getting.

Ireland knocked on the door lightly, which made Wales jump wide awake immediately. Ireland was not at all surprised. It was a reflex that Wales had developed due to being ganged up on by Scotland, England, and Ireland (and if he was really lucky, all three of them at once). It never got any better. "Alright?" Ireland asked.

Wales nodded, then stopped and looked shocked. "Ire… you may…"

Ireland suddenly felt a sting in the back of his head. It hurt badly, like a scolding. He turned around, ready to fight whoever did that, but almost fell down out of surprise. "Mum?"

Britannia, in all her brilliant glory, gave Ireland a fierce scowl. "Aye, it's me." She was wearing that white dress she wore back when she was alive; her long blonde hair tied up in a braided bun. Ireland was both glad to see Britannia again, and also terrified to hear her pissed off voice. "Tell me, what did I ask you to do?"

"When?"

"When I died. I told you to do one thing."

"To look after my brother and…"

"Brothers," Britannia corrected him, "I don't care what you all got into an argument about, but it has gone on long enough."

"You don't know what happened."

"Does it look like I care? Scotland has told me enough about it, and it seems that everything has been put right now, besides all your feelings. Family cannot give up on family."

"Aye, mum…" Ireland said quietly.

Britannia gave Ireland a hug. "You are all each other has in a world that is always changing. I know the past is your specialty and that it haunts you, but that does not mean you can hold onto grudges forever." She told him quietly. It took a lot from Ireland not to burst into tears.

"What are you doing here, Mum?" Wales asked once Ireland and Britannia's moment was over, "And how can we see you?"

"I came to see England. It took a lot of convincing to do this, and in the end, I have to thank Rome." Britannia did not look at all happy about that fact.

"Really?" Ireland groaned, which warranted another slap in the back of the head.

"So you know that he's ill," Wales stated.

Britannia nodded. "Spéir did a fantastic job healing him. I'm only making sure that his head is in the right place. There was another person involved, who was also apart of the healing ritual."

"That's why he used more magic than expected," Ireland said, realizing what happened, "But who else is involved?"

Britannia shook her head, "I didn't ask. Now, what are you doing in the dead of night in a library?" Britannia turned to pointedly look at Wales.

"It's this," Wales said, bringing out a relatively new spell book, "I don't know if Scotland told you about Canada, but we recently found out that he has a gift for magic. I've been trying to make a spell book for him, but finding spells has been rather difficult."

Britannia asked for the book and read through it. "Scotshire may have mentioned him once or twice. Who is he?"

"He's a nation England took in when he was younger," Wales explained.

"Can I see him?"

The three of them walked down the halls, guided by Ireland's light. Canada's room was the same one he had when he lived in England's house before. There was a wall full of old childhood drawings. Canada was in his bed, asleep to the world.

"He looks like France," Britannia said, "The hair is the same."

"He was France's for a little while. England took him in when France no longer could take care of him."

"What kind of person is he?"

"He's quiet," Ireland said, "And never really argues, except with America, but then again, they are brothers. I've actually never heard of any stories of him getting really mad at anyone ever, except if it has to do with hockey. He helped out during this one bad war for our side…" Ireland was at a loss for words; he couldn't seem to get the right ones out to completely capture Canada. In honest truth, he really liked the nation. They always seemed to agree on similar things.

Britannia walked over to where Canada lay. She placed a hand on his forehead. "He has a gift in finding lost things," she said quietly. Britannia opened the book and wrote down a few things before placing it on the nightstand. She then placed a finger on Canada's forehead and said, "My blessing be upon you, Canada. May you be protected by the graces of your land and people." Her eyes glowed green as she spoke.

"What does it do?" Ireland asked once they closed the door to Canada's room. "Your blessing?"

Britannia gave a mysterious smile, but didn't answer the question. Ireland was not at all surprised; Britannia never answered questions she didn't want to answer.

"Now, is there anyone else I should know about in this family England has made?"

"Australia and America," Wales said, "They are also little ones England took in when they were young."

"Australia is the rambunctious one," Britannia said, "I have met him before."

"How?" Wales and Ireland asked in unison.

Once again, Britannia didn't answer in words, but rather in a knowing smile.

"Fine, keep your secrets," Ireland said.

"America was England's favorite," Wales said, "He's the leading power of the world now."

"And what is he like?"

Wales and Ireland looked at each other. "He's…" Wales started to say.

"He's Canada's exact opposite, personality wise." Ireland said without hesitation. "He's loud, he's rude, he speaks his mind constantly, and he doesn't understand subtlety. But, regardless of that, he has saved all our asses on numerous occasions, and his heart tends to be in the right place. The world would be very different without him in it, that's for sure."

"Hm…" Britannia looked thoughtful for a moment. "I won't keep you two up. I think I can find my way around this place."

Wales took Britannia's hand and held it for a minute. Ireland knew that Wales was very close to Britannia when she was still alive. "You were right," Wales said.

Britannia smiled kindly and gave Wales a hug. She whispered something to him before pulling away. Then she turned to Ireland and opened her arms to him. They hugged once again. "Your energy flows through your people, just as their energy flows through you. Remember that."

"I will, Mum."

"And don't make me want to come back to scold you personally again," Britannia chided.

"We'll try," Wales said.

Ireland smiled, the bitter sting of goodbye in his chest. "See you when our time comes."

88888

America groaned and turned over. Something woke him up, but he wasn't sure what. He heard a door close. "Matt?" He asked, reaching for a light. When he turned it on, Canada wasn't in the room. Rather, there was a woman in white looking at him. She looked like what America would imagine to be the girl version of England with long hair and a bit older.

"The hero of Europe," she said, "And yet you can't see the magical folk without help. How are you my grandson?"

"Who are you?" America asked slowly, shoving on his glasses just to make sure he was seeing things properly. He glanced down at the clock on the nightstand; it was two o'clock in the morning.

"I am Britannia. Tell me, why did you forsake magic?"

"It wasn't I knew I could until a few days ago." America groaned. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have at any time, let alone a godforsaken one.

"Except it was you who shocked England awake."

"Hey, that was a coincidence he woke up after I shook him."

"Is that your word for it? Coincidence doesn't happen in the magical world, just so you know."

"What are you doing in my room?" America asked. He was wide awake now, and hating every second of it.

"I wanted to see why England liked you so much. You are very strong, I'll give him that." Britannia took a deep breath. "The world has changed indeed." Her eyes glowed green again, and America got the distinct impression he was being read. When the light in her eyes died down, she had an amused look on her face. "You admire England."

"Once, when I was a kid." America said, with an eyebrow raised.

"Oh, but you still do. I can see it in your eyes."

America really didn't like having his thoughts read. "I fought him though. I don't look up to him anymore. I surpassed him."

"True. No one can be strong forever, and the same goes for you too. But admiration takes on many forms. You're here, aren't you? Making sure that England comes out of this alright. You still admire him."

"I just… I don't know why he did this. It makes no sense. He almost killed himself."

"Well, that's certainly true. He's always been a stubborn one, and I think you know that to be true. He didn't mean to cause this trouble. However, that is his story to tell when morning comes and not mine." Britannia took out a pair of leather gloves and a pocket sized book from her oversized sleeve and handed them to America. "Just in case."

"What are these?"

"The gloves will seal your magic so long as you wear them. The book is some spells that I believe will be right up your expertise. Being the hero and all that."

"Like I'm going to need magic." America rolled his eyes.

"It's more likely than you think. These might be the difference between life and death for you."

"Sure, whatever."

"Ireland was right, you are rude." Britannia said, with an amused expression on her face. "But I trust his judgement of your character." She touched America's forehead. "My blessing be upon you, America. May you be protected by the graces of your land and that trouble does not find you until you are ready to face it."

Before America could ask what that meant, he lost consciousness.

88888

Wales, regardless of spending most of the night awake, was still up early. He watched the kettle heat up, knowing full well the rule against doing so. He didn't care.

"Morning," Ireland said, coming into the kitchen. He looked how Wales felt: groggy, with no real way of fixing it.

The two of them stood next to each other in silence. Wales was used to that from Ireland. Even when they were kids, the two of them didn't really say much to each other. They were very different people. Wales was constantly looking toward the future while Ireland was always reminded of the past. The present was their meeting ground.

"Out of curiosity," Ireland eventually spoke up, "Did you ever find Excalibur?"

"No… the pond that Scotland threw it in is no longer there. The sword wasn't there. Someone else must have found it." The thought of it didn't make Wales happy one bit, but what was done was done. He just hoped that the sword was in a museum, locked up where it could do no harm to anyone.

"Shame."

Wales sighed, "I would have loved to see it again."

Silence pervaded once again. "I have always envied your gift, you know," Ireland said, "To see into the future."

"It's not that great. The futures I see… while I've learned to shrug them off, they stay with me like a stone. As the events unfold, either I can stop them or watch as they unravel. Mostly the latter, because I don't have the power to stop them. Watching helpless."

"But… at least there is a chance you can change the future. What good is it to watch past events again and again, knowing there is nothing you can do to change what has already occurred?"

"Humans have a reason for it," Wales shrugs. The kettle whistled and he started pouring the hot water into the tea pot he had prepared.

"Do they?"

"Memorials, museums, movies… they keep rewatching the past, their collective histories. Their reason for it is to learn for it, so that maybe next time, things won't turn out the same. They say history repeats itself."

"That history repeats itself until the human race is ready to move on," Ireland said quietly, more to himself that to Wales. He looked up and said, "It's one thing to do it willingly. It's another to be forced into it."

"True enough." Wales smiled. He then outstretched a hand to Ireland. "Truce?"

Ireland took the hand, and pulled Wales into a hug. "Truce."

* * *

**Author's Note**: *Ireland has learned HUG* *HUG is super effective*  
But, in all seriousness, those items are going to come in handy for America in a later story. Britannia is really good at magic, and can cast spells that let her see into the future or the past, depending on what she wants to find out. She just wants to take care of the family, regardless on how they got there.  
Scotshire is just Britannia's name for Scotland.  
That is it for this week's up date. Until next time.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note**: As a caution: some vague mentions of overdosing and death. No one actually dies, just foreboding of death (since Wales' visions are usually just about danger and depressing stuff).

* * *

England woke up and almost freaked out when he found himself not on the floor of his flat. He remembered falling to the ground, unable to move as the ambrosia spread through his system like poison. It was not a pleasant feeling.

He closed his eyes. His head hurt terribly. Through the pain, the events of the past week came back to him and he calmed down some. He was home and his mind was intact at long last.

The first thing he did was change out of the sweatshirt he was forced into by his brothers and into his usual formal attire. Then he looked at the sweatshirt; it was the same one Wales got him for Christmas a few years back.

'How the bloody hell did they find this?' he thought as he folded it up nicely and placed it on the bed. He never really liked sweatshirts, but he did have to admit it was soft and warm. Not that he was going to wear it again any time soon.

England walked out of the room. He wasn't exactly sure what to do with himself, so he headed for the kitchen. He could do with a cup of tea.

"Aye, so how about you calm down? We can talk more at the world meeting." England ran into Scotland, who was on the phone. Scotland noticed England right away, "Look, Finland, let's talk later. I don't have the time right now." Scotland hung up the phone and looked at England. "You're up."

England nodded. "Where's everyone else?"

"In the kitchen. Australia's telling stories about his adventures in the outback."

England nodded. He had heard a few of them, but not from Australia directly. It was always second hand.

"You do know who he is, right?" Scotland asked.

"Yes, I do. I think I'm back to normal. My head is at least clear now."

"Good." Scotland grabbed England by the shoulder. "You are going to explain yourself then."

Before England had any time to react, he felt himself being swung over Scotland shoulder and carried over to the kitchen. England felt it was completely unnecessary to do this, but regardless he let it happen. Last thing he wanted was to be seen as a child.

England was plopped at the head of the kitchen table. Everyone was gathered there, with Australia moving to be apart of the new audience.

"Go on," Scotland growled as he sat next to Wales, "What happened? Why the fuck were you playing around with ambrosia?"

England sighed. He didn't want to do this first thing in the morning, but when Scotland gave anyone that stare that he was giving England at that moment, let's just say no one argued against it. England took a few moments to adjust himself and get his thoughts together.

_England kept his head held high throughout the entire meeting, even though his hands were shaking. As papers were signed, he could feel pieces of himself being taken out of him. It was painful, but he couldn't let anyone see it. That would be even worse. He was the last to sign; the last twist of the knife. The second he was let go, he ran into a private room and screamed his head off to relieve the pain. Tears were falling from his face and he sank to the floor in agony. He wished that he could have just been slain in battle. It would have been easier than dying from the inside._

"I was in pain after the dissolution. Physical pain. A huge portion of myself was ripped away and there was nothing left in that void. It died down throughout the day to a point where it was manageable. And I thought that would be the end of it… however, the pain got worse at night. I couldn't sleep and the pain was unbearable."

"You should have said something," Wales pointed out.

England glared at Wales. "According to past experience, I didn't think any of you would take me seriously. In the past, there was the whole mentality of just getting over it and moving on. And I tried to do so. I really did. To keep calm and carry on because life moves forward anyway. The pain got worse, and in my dreams I kept reliving my past." He did have one comfort during that time: Victoria.

_England had met Victoria about a year prior, when he had moved back to his flat in London. The talks of possible dissolution were in the air, and England could feel a certain shift in the air._

_ "Goddamn it!" a girl with long brown hair cursed outside of the building._

_ "Something wrong?" England asked._

_ "It's this stupid key…" the girl said as she kept fiddling with the key in the lock, "I've been having trouble with it since I got here and my landlord refuses to get me a new one. He can make it work, apparently."_

_ England had a go with the girl's key, and found it nearly impossible to work. "Here, take mine. I think I'll have better luck with getting a replacement than you will."_

_ "Thanks… Are you new to the building? I haven't seen you here before."_

_ "Sort of. I've lived here before back during…" England cut himself off, fake coughing. "Come on, I'll make you some tea if you aren't busy. What's your name?"_

_ "Victoria. And you?"_

_ "Arthur." As the two of them went to his flat and he got tea prepared, England couldn't help but be reminded of a certain girl a few centuries ago who went by the same name. _

_ "So, what are you doing here in London?" Arthur asked._

_ "I'm in uni studying history. I'm not sure what I want to do with it, but I love history and listening to stories of the past."_

_ "What got you to pursue history?" Arthur brought the tea pot over to the table. _

_ "I loved hearing the stories my grandparents would tell. And whenever I'd hear a story from them, I'd go look up the context of some of the stuff they'd mentioned. It's a lot of fun… How about you? Why are you in London."_

_ "I'm… something like an ambassador. It's easier for me to stay in the city right now than go home."_

_ "Are you busy then?" Victoria asked, "Because of all the talk of dissolution?"_

_ England nodded, "I will be soon enough." It was the tension. The build up. It was the same as waiting around the eve of battle, knowing the chaos to come. "Say, if you ever want help with your studies in history, let me know. I know a great deal about the subject and can help you."_

_ England never told Victoria of who he was, but he did tell her of what he learned through his "job", which intrigued her. They would spend hours talking and discussing history. When the dissolution happened, he found these talks to numb the pain of it for a time, but never for long._

"I knew I needed sleep or at least something to properly take care of the pain. I looked everywhere for something, and tried anything I could get my hands on. And then I found the ambrosia, hidden in the sewers under London, which…" England looked at Scotland, "If memory serves me correctly, you were the one to deal with it last… why there of all places? It was not even well hidden."

"I think a better question is why you were down in the sewers in the first place," Scotland said gruffly.

England crossed his arms. "You first."

"Guys," Canada said after a very long period of uncomfortable silence, "Please."

England sighed. "I remembered what ambrosia did before when that man had originally been using the stuff. I was desperate enough to give it a try. After all, it's not like I could die from it. And it was the relief that I needed… for a time. But… as the drug goes, in order for the effect to have the same hold, I needed to take more." There was more to it, but he really didn't want to talk about it. Leading up to the days he overdosed, he was depressed and slept a lot, his dreams being memories of his younger days when he was alone in the forest. Lost. Just as he was now. "I think you can figure out the rest."

When England was done, he waited silently for his judgment from his family. There was silence for a long time, until Ireland, of all people, spoke up. "As much as I still hate you, and that probably won't change any time soon, I get it. But… you can't bottle it up. That's what gets you mental." Ireland paused for a few moments, his lips pursed in thought "…you gave all of us quite a scare."

Wales nodded, "I agree. I'm not saying that I'm ok with what you did, only that I understand the reason why. I'll try to be more open for you, though. I don't want you to think that you can't talk."

"You are a stubborn idiot," Scotland said, "And if you ever do this again, I promise I will invade your country and take it over." His serious face broke into a smile when he was done, and England knew that he was only kidding… slightly. England sure wasn't about to test how serious the threat was any time soon.

"We should visit each other more often," Northern Ireland said, "And just talk. I know phones are more of a thing, but there are some things that can't be said over a phone."

"I'm with North on that one, mate," Australia said with a smile, "It's about time you started visiting me for personal reasons. I can give you a tour of my country anytime!"

Canada nodded in agreement, "I guarantee that there are plenty of places in mine that you never realized existed."

Everyone looked at America, who hadn't said a word. He had his arms crossed and was looking away from England. He had a sulky look on his face. He eventually looked at England and said, "I'll only forgive you if you actually apologize."

England closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His pride was gone, and he knew it would be a long time to regain it. If he ever would again. "I'm sorry," England said quietly.

"I can't hear you."

"I'm sorry, wanker! Ok?"

America nodded, and gave England a bear hug. England could feel tears on his shoulder where America's head was. _Don't you know how hard it is to see your role model be torn apart?_ "I'm sorry, Alfred," England whispered, using America's human name for once, "I didn't realize how much this would affect you."

Once they broke away, Ireland coughed for attention, "Can I talk with you, Arthur? Alone?"

England nodded, but warily. They walked out into the hall. England could hear conversation being sparked again, starting with Australia, but he couldn't tell what was being said.

"So… what is this about?" England asked.

Ireland looked over England for a moment before putting out a hand. "I want a truce. At this point in time, I know I can't forgive you. But I also know that nothing can change while things remain the same between us. I want us to be brothers again."

"And what brought this up?"

"Mum." Ireland then proceeded to tell England what happened the previous night. Not everything, just the important bits.

"I guess that would explain why my head's back to normal. So," England looked down at Ireland's hand, "If we're going to be brothers again, this means that you can't get mad at me for making fun of you now, right?"

"Piss off," Ireland said, but with an evil grin on his face, "That's a two way street you know."

"It's only fair."

The two of them shook hands. Sparks flew from that connection, binding the agreement between them both. Enough was enough. Ireland could never forget the past, but they could at least being working with the future.

88888

America twirled his stylus around as he tried not to be invested in what Canada and Wales were doing in the room. He tried to make himself look like he was busy with work. He should have been busy with work, but how could anyone focus on that when there were more exciting things going on. Even if America didn't want to have anything to do with magic, a part of him really wanted to watch.

"I can get the spell to work fine," Canada said, "It's just after casting it, everything looks purple." America glanced up and saw that Canada's eyes were glowing violet.

"That's normal," Wales said. He put his hands on Canada's shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes. "This happens all the time. It's just the magic coming out. It's a good thing that it's only through glowing eyes. It means you have control over your magic. I'd be a little more worried if it was sparks."

America remembered the gifts that Britannia had given him the night before. Why would he need either one of those things? If he just not tamper with magic, there would be no issue of controlling it. It just wouldn't bubble up, like it had done all his life.

"So what do I do then?" Canada asked.

"Wait… I know it's not the greatest solution, but it's the safest way to deal with it. Do you have sunglasses?"

"Yeah, but in all fairness, sunglasses inside look stupid."

"Only if you don't need it," Wales shrugged, "Now, there is plenty of space in the book for you to write your own spells, should you want to do that. Experimenting can be complicated and dangerous at times, so it really is entirely up to you."

"How dangerous can it get?"

"Well… let me put it this way, I'm surprised the number of time England _hasn't_ blown himself up."

That made America snicker a bit.

"So, what you're saying is that his cooking is more lethal than his magic," Canada said, grinning. "Gotcha."

"No, his cooking is fine. Honestly, I don't understand why…" Wales suddenly stopped talking.

"Wales?"

America looked up. Wales was standing there, frozen, his eyes glowing turquoise. He stood up and walked over to Wales. "Hey, are you ok?"

Wales didn't answer. His eyes darted back and forth. He was seeing something, but America had no idea what it was.

"Wales, answer me!" America grabbed Wales by the shoulders.

Visions passed in front of America's view._ Switzerland was standing up in the middle of a world meeting, pointing over at Prussia. "I would trust him with nothing less than a 9 meter pole!" He looked quite put off. "It won't work with him in charge of it." Then, it was raining in the middle of a graveyard, where Prussia's body was put to rest. Germany stood over it, solemn, but that was only a mask and even America knew that. "Odd that the body hasn't faded," England said quietly, leaning to Wales. "Happens when the death is not natural," China responded with equal discreetness. Then, the scene shifted to inside a hotel lobby, where America and Russia were shouting down each other's throats. The words were not easily discernible as the high ceiling made every word echo. The lights above started to flicker, then turn off completely. There was a scream not too far off. The scene transitioned to another funeral, except the person in the casket this time was America. There were dried tears on England's face, and Canada was an emotional mess. Massachusetts tapped Wales' shoulder and handed him a magnificent sword that had the name "Excalibur" engraved on the hilt. "This, I believe is yours," she said solemnly. "I only got about three sounds from Matthew about this. What happened?" Wales asked, turning his attention to Massachusetts. "Matt did what he thought was best. America was possessed, and Matt tried to exorcise whatever was controlling him. You can see…" _America closed his eyes, and shook his head. When he opened them again, he was back in England's house, staring at Wales' whose eyes were finally fading back to normal. America took his hands off Wales' shoulder immediately. "What just happened?"

Wales groaned and messaged his forehead. "Visions."

"Are you ok?" Canada asked.

"Yes… I'll be fine. I haven't had one that bad in a while."

"So they aren't always like someone pressing the fast forward button during a movie?" America asked.

Wales looked surprised, which in turn surprised America. He hadn't seen this guy break much from a causally solemn face. "You saw?" Wales asked.

America nodded.

"No, they are usually never like that," Wales answered, "I have seen it before a few times. Once when I was taking a very difficult challenge, once while you were fighting England for independence, and a few times during the world wars."

Canada looked extremely worried. "So… what happens now?"

"That depends on how things fall. There is one thing I know I can do about."

America looked at Wales, "And what is that?"

Wales didn't say anything. Rather, he picked up his phone and called someone. "Hello, Switzerland. It's Wales… Yes, I was wondering if you can do me a favor. It's going to be an odd request, and I will owe you for it, but the next world meeting, give Prussia the benefit of the doubt… Yes, you heard me correctly… I told you, I would owe you if you do this for me. At least consider it… Ta." Wales looked at his phone once the conversation was finished.

"What was that for?" America asked. He remembered what he saw… but what was Switzerland so pissed at Prussia for in the first place. Well, more than usual; Switzerland didn't like Prussia all that much.

"We'll find out, won't we?" Wales said, "And pray all will work out in the end." Wales looked at America and Canada for a few moments before saying, "Please, take this piece of advice, both of you: don't mess around with things you don't know about."

"Where's the fun in that?" America asked, half joking.

"And that's what I'm worried about. At least do some research first. It could be the difference between life and death."

Taliesin came into the room, right up to America. It looked up at the nation from the ground, and flicked its tongue menacingly.

"And what do you want?" America asked. He had just about enough of this little devil of a creature.

The dragon blew some smoke, then climbed up America and perched itself on America's shoulder.

"Does this mean you've forgiven me for whatever I did?"

Taliesin licked America's cheek with his tongue, which felt like wet sandpaper. Tentatively, America petted Taliesin's head and for once, there was no attempt on the dragon's part to bite America's hand.

"I think he might have seen what you did for that lake," Wales explained, "I don't know what got him riled up before, but at least it's resolved now."

"And of course you can't talk, so we have no way of knowing."

Taliesin crawled down America's arm, and put a claw on America's hand.

88888

England peaked into the hall, looking to see if anyone was there. No one. Quietly, he went over to the main house phone that rested in an old glass telephone box and dialed up the operator. He had been meaning to do so all day, but his brothers had been watching him like a hawk. 'It's not like I'm incapable of functioning on my own,' he thought as he waited for his call to be picked up.

"What are ye doin' now?" Scotland asked, walking up behind England.

England snapped around. "You are not the boss of me." Finally someone picked up. He held up a finger to Scotland as he told the receiver, "Yes, can you connect me to Antonio Fernandez Carriedo?"

"You are still not to full health, so yes, I am."

England groaned. "My health is fine, _thank you_ very much. Besides, I'm just checking up on a friend… at least I think we are friends now."

"Why?"

"…I want to make sure he made it out alright."

Scotland raised an eyebrow. "You saw him?"

"We were in this reoccurring dream together. I know, I know… never trust things in the dream realm, but I have this feeling that it really was him and not just a figment of my imagination. I just want to make sure he is ok."

'After all,' England thought as he waited on the line for Spain to pick up, 'An explosion is nothing to laugh at.'

The call went through. "And what the fuck do you want?"

It took England a moment to work out who it was: Romano. He sounded pissed… well, more pissed than usual. "…is Spain there?"

"Who is this?"

"England."

The phone got shuffled around. "England's on the phone," Romano said to someone else, "Do you want to talk to him?" More phone shuffling and England heard a door slam.

"Hola?" Spain asked. He sounded a tad bit confused. England couldn't tell if it was because of him or Romano.

England took a deep breath and a leap of faith, "Hola, Captain of the _Asunción_. How are you feeling?" He hoped that Spain would understand the message, being that England used the name of the ship they were on in the dream.

Spain chuckled, "You know, for all that time we were there together, you never told me the name of the one that sunk. I hope it wasn't an important one."

"They were all important." England rolled his eyes a bit. "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better. How about you?"

"I've been worse. I just wanted to call to make sure you were alright."

"To make sure it all happened, right?"

"Yeah…" England felt relieved, sort of. But now it brought another question to mind, "About the explosion… what exactly were you doing?"

"Ah, that. I can't tell you."

England raised an eyebrow. He looked at the phone for a moment in confusion before asking, "Why?"

"At least not now. I want it to be a surprise for the world meeting."

"You'll be able to make it?"

"I should, if Romano will actually let me out of bed."

"Alright, but if you can't make it, you have to tell me."

"I will, I will. I owe you that much."

"Is it something good?"

"Si, very good. All I ask is for you to hear me out when I explain. Comprende?"

"Fair enough." England was now completely intrigued as to what Spain had done. "Though I have a bad feeling about this."

"Don't. Please, trust me. I will see you Monday."

"Spain, wait," England said quickly, "Before you hang up… Thank you, for helping me out. I don't think I would have come back without you." England felt that he would have kept falling further and further into his mind if it weren't for Spain.

"Alright, who are you and what have you done with the real England?"

"I mean it, Spain. Also…" England had no idea what he was saying, but he was rolling with it, "This is going to sound so bloody weird, but …are we friends?"

"After all that happened, I think we can say we are."

"But… can we come to each other in times of need? Can we trust each other?"

'That is the definition of friendship, right?' England wondered as he waited for Spain's reply.

"You know, I've had to tell this to Francis and Gilbert. I can never trust you as England, but then again, who can? But I can trust you as Arthur Kirkland."

England smiled. "Never tell America's states you said that. I know at least 13 of them who would heartily disagree."

That made Spain laugh, "Don't worry. I'm in a similar boat with a few South American countries. This can stay between us."

A friend, outside of the family. A true friend not made out of any political gain. Something personal, which his boss couldn't do anything about for once. "Thank you, Antonio."

* * *

**Author's Note**: As to why Scotland was talking to Finland at the beginning of the chapter: Finland initiated, trying to get a hold of England because of Sealand. The micronation is fine, however since he was a _British_ base, and Great Britain in this story has been dissolved, who gets to claim Sealand? And of course, Sealand is all excited because this, in an odd technicality, does make him his own nation (as far as little Sealand is concerned). More to come as this develops.  
Wales' visions in this chapter are a sneak peak at some of the stuff to come. Not that everything in it will come to pass (I promise I won't kill off Prussia, because that is just rude) however it is insight to the conflicts that are to come.


	22. Epilogue: Fun with France

Canada's phone rang with the tune of France's national song. England looked up from the paper he was reading. Apparently, a lot of stuff had broken out since he was mentally out of tune; Wales had been marking up the papers, highlighting the important articles. Nothing good, as always. Nothing good was ever on the front page, except for weddings. Not even the new episodes of Doctor Who were good. Not that they weren't good episodes, but they had bad things happening that always tore England's heart out, for example the tenth doctor's last episode. My God, he needed a good brew that day… England knew that he owed Wales big time for giving him these news sparknotes.

"Ehe, give me a moment," Canada said sheepishly. He took out the phone and answered it as he left the room, "Bonjour, Papa."

America made an attempt to get up, but England grabbed his arm and sat him back down, which was hard to do since America had always been stronger than England. England ended up having to stand up to successfully shove America back in his seat.

"What?" America asked.

"Canada wants privacy," England explained, "Otherwise he would have stayed in here."

"But I want to know who's on the phone," America whined.

"Aren't you the control freak?" England remarked.

"Hey, don't act like you never did the exact same thing."

"And yet, here I am waiting for Canada to come back _like a gentleman_." Besides, there was only one person Canada would call "papa".

America looked at England a bit peeved. Canada came back, still holding the phone. "Umm… Francis wants to talk to you, Arthur," he said.

"Oh?" England took the phone where France's face was on the screen.

"Angleterre! Matthew told me what had happened. Are you alright?"

"You told him?" England asked Canada. He wasn't really angry with Canada, he just didn't get why Canada would tell France… no… it made sense actually. Canada and France always seemed to have some kind of connection. Probably because France took Canada in first.

Canada gave England a guilty look.

"Of course he told me," France answered, "He tells me everything."

Canada covered his face with his hands, and America started laughing. "So does he know about…"

"Stop!" Canada covered America's mouth before he said anything more.

"Alfred, behave," England said sternly.

"So," France continued, "Is it true that you completely forgot everything? Even moi?"

"Francis, I don't think anyone could forget who you bloody are," England growled.

"That is because I am so unforgettable. Who can forget a beautiful face like mine?"

England groaned.

"Now, the reason I called: I need help. I am trying to get a party started, but it turns out something has arisen in my country and my hands are tied, so to speak."

Both America and Canada perked up at this. England asked, "What's the occasion?"

"Well, since many nations are getting new bosses, like Matthew, Switzerland, and Australia, we should have something to congratulate them, no? Maybe even help those bosses understand this whole nations thing?"

'That idea isn't half bad,' England thought. "Alright fine. But I can't help with it. I've already got enough work for me trying to catch up with what I missed over the past few weeks."

"Really?" France asked.

"I was in a bloody coma, you git!"

"And who's fault was that?" America asked.

"What did I just tell you?" England snapped at America.

France laughed. "Fine then. Help me find someone who can help. I promised Australia that I would make this work."

England thought about it for a moment, actually considering it for Australia's sake. "I don't know, someone who has nothing better to do… like Prussia…" England regretted the suggestion that right after he said it. A party put on by Prussia was not going to be good.

"Now there's an idea. Merci, Angleterre. Can you hand me back to mon petit now?"

"You know he's my child."

"Not biologically. He has my good looks." France flung his hair in a sexy way.

England rolled his eyes and handed the phone back to Canada, who was still looking really red.

"Qu'est-ce que je vous dis sur vous me aide comme influence pour vos arguments avec l'Angleterre?"

England blinked. Sure, he had heard Canada speak in French, though not as fast as how Canada just said it. It almost scared him if he was being completely honest with himself.

"No worries, me cheri," France said, still talking in the nation dialect, "It was no argument."

"Francis," Canada said in a pleading manner.

"Alright, je suis désolé, Matthew. So, now that Angleterre is alright, will you come visit me? I haven't seen you in so long."

"I wish I could, Papa, but I'm still needed here." England rolled his eyes. Everyone kept insisting that he still needed to be looked after, just in case. They were all making a panic about nothing… but, it was nice having so many people around the house. Not that he would ever say.

France sighed a little sad. "Alright, I will see you at the world meeting then. Maybe I should come visit you afterwards? I just want to spend some time with you."

Canada smiled. "Oui, papa. I would love that. Au revoir." Canada hung up the phone.

"I didn't realize you talked to him often," England said.

"When phones were invented, Francis used any excuse he could to call me. We got an agreement that we'd call once a week, unless something big turns up," Canada explained.

England nodded and turned back to his newspaper. It sounded… nice. To be able to just talk.

"If you want," Canada continued, "We can do something similar."

"You wouldn't mind?" England asked quickly.

Canada shook his head and smiled, "After all this, I think it is a good idea to keep in touch more."

* * *

**Author's Note**:Translation Note: What did I tell you about using me in your arguments with England? (roughly)

Canada's reaction was mostly out of him being fed up with being used in that light for so long. It may have been a small mention, but Canada is sick of it. And he only went off on France because he told France to quit it. Now that he and England will be talking more, England will also be told the same thing.

This marks the end of this story. Definitely another one on the way, never fear. The Tomato-Bastard's Gift, where we get to see Spain's side of the story. He was definitely doing something with ambrosia, and didn't take enough precautions for it. Also starring in it: Greece, Japan, Romano, Italy, and a little Germany. Be on the look out for it next week. Until then.


End file.
